#inquiries and complaints — asks

[motelnatural]

SHE/HER SAM DISEASE TWINSSSS

HELL !!!!! YEAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!! pointing at sam winchester and Giving her Pronouns

[vermillioncrown]

🧠 Lang-zhangmen? Or Shuangfeng?

🧠 Pick a character, and I'll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

i'll do both

=

lang-zhangmen likes to fish in their spare time. now, the sect knows this, but no one has ever seen this nor admitted to seeing this. they talk about fishing to their personal disciples, sometimes the dinners have fresh catches of the day, and the time that yan xichao was 'fishing' was from word-of-mouth of various fishing techniques as apparently mentioned by lang-zhangmen over the years. however, no one catches them fishing because they use their typically done-up looks as a distraction so when they dress down, they just look like a random elder of the sect (they have a second 'identity' but only their peers know enough to confirm).

=

shuangfeng kids, as you can imagine, are fucking relentless when it comes to roasting their own. like most canto kids being left to their own devices (more or less), they have an extensive list of nicknames for each other and notable people that the sect encounters.

an example that has happened within the last few months of the qishan wen discussion conference is of an older disciple with surname lan, or laan in cantonese (not 'blue' like the gusu lan, but 'orchid' lan).

kid is a known party boy, and i think i've already hinted that shuangfeng doesn't care as long as you don't proverbially shit where you eat. but he finally goes on a bender so bad that he is the spiritual originator of The Hangover, xianxia version, which has him vehemently swear in the middle of heaven's court peak to "QUIT EVERYTHING. I ABSTAIN FROM EVERYTHING". and he does, and practically forces himself to be like a monk. vegetarian and shit.

now, the cantonese word for 'to abstain/to quit' is gaai.

after legendary laan's adventure and officially quitting while he was ahead, everyone now calls him 'gaai laan', which is at least two-fold pun and can be reached for three.

戒蘭 'gaai laan' for his renouncing of all partying, 芥蘭 'gaai laan' as a homophone for chinese broccoli and mocking him for becoming like a real monk, and a subcategory of taunt for him fucking around before bc a unit vegetable [一]條菜 [nei] tiu coi is a derogatory way of referencing someone's girl. their hoe, essentially

and with all canto nicknames i know of, they eventually act like actual titles for that person rather than a way to poke fun at them. we'll never learn disciple laan's full name, sadly

[lasplaga]

△ + Are you afraid of being alone?

「𝔖」 Were they expecting The Priest to regress into MADDENING hysterics, grossly bewailing The Sealer's subjugation over his people for centuries? How their crusade left them a dying breed, lest they breached their sanctioned quarantine?

Or, were they dangerously curious of his parasitic inclinations, for it was impossible to comprehend solitude in the mind & flesh? Born into a collective, attempting to fathom WHAT IT MEANT to not share the same blood, was terrifying! It was natural for humans to fear death, to fear existence without individuality ; A multi-minded vessel would undoubtedly fear the opposite, living WITHOUT impregnable submission, thoughts unable to harmoniously mend with THOUSANDS, spanning species which otherwise couldn't communicate.

Curt & without wasting a breath, The Lord ordered his judgment, albeit, HALF in a tongue the outsider could not hear. For to expose a weakness so innately deep-rooted & used as a weapon against his kind BEFORE would be foolish. Thus, to rate in a manner of score --- 10/10, but he has a trick up his sleeve to make the confirmation more comfortable. More specifically, an army of loyal undead at his complete & utter disposal.

" 𝔜𝔢𝔰. " --- Done! Onto the following audience to grant! --- But not before damning this anonymous cretin TO DEATH by hanging, drawing, & quartering. A punishment he would delightfully witness through the eyes of his brethren with immense satisfaction, as they were promptly dragged out from the chamber. The zealous were unforgiving in gagging with bloodied rags, to prevent the secret from passing onto unwanted passerby's. " 𝔈𝔫𝔧𝔬𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔩𝔢𝔡𝔤𝔢, 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫. "

It was a true terror to be alone. Lord Saddler could not grasp why humans PURPOSELY chose to live in such agony, in a world rife of deception & fabrication. With cerebration selfishly hoarded to oneself, other's could not decipher if a mind contemplated peace or war. They could not be enlightened to GENUINE feeling which may be barred by social customs, miscommunication, language barriers, or more insidiously --- lying lips. Offenses such as intolerance, betrayal or deceit could not thrive in a society that prided itself upon lack of privacy, a Kingdom in which EVERYONE & EVERYTHING were implanted with the same purpose in mind.

For thousands of years, humanity has failed to justify their sociality, retaining their faculty, & will for themselves. --- They would NEVER prove social or cellular isolation as a biological advantage or necessity.

[askmountstcremesstalwartdefender]

How do you two eat? Do you know any table manners?

Of course! Well- at least I do- Caramel Brownie on the other hand-

I have manners, I just prefer to either be a bitch and bicker or sit at my desk. I live by the concept that if you have to sit at a table with someone then dinner is more fun when you're talking smack and poking fun at each other.

[carebearbussy]

ᥫ᭡ thinking about heian era! sukuna having a heavy breeding kink, seemingly out of nowhere.

you bring up a mere idea at dinner, the conversation quickly turning normal, to you bringing up an idea he had never given a second thought to.

"do you ever want kids with me, 'kuna?"

you would ask him, innocently enough, a sickeningly sweet tone hidden beneath your words. but you would already know the answer to this question. he would look up at you, then back down at his food, annoyance pondering his mind. eating a slab of salmon sashimi, he took a bite, chewing slow enough to hint at his potential answer. placing down his chopsticks, he would look back up at you, scoffing to himself at your foolish inquiry.

"those small, annoying humans that require too much attention for their own good? no thank you, i have better things to attend to."

he says, focusing on the meal before him. but his thoughts soon get the best of him. and now that he thinks about it, he will need an heir eventually. and not only that, but what would you be like? as a mother specifically. you would require more attention than most of the time. which was something he secretly enjoyed indulging in, despite his negative reasoning towards infants. how would you look?

you would be more swollen than usual, you stomach would grow larger by day, your breasts will most definitely become more full by the day. the bigger picture, which was you, enticed him in a way. something about seeing you round with his child really had his head going.

and so thats how you ended up here, you knees tightly locked against your stomach, as sukuna absolutely plows into your already stuffed cunt.

this was the seventh time? eighth time? at this point, you couldn't keep track. but he had came wayyyy too many times more than an average man should be able to. it was excruciating, really, the whimpers leaving your mouth, his hands bringing your knees closer to your chest with every move of his hips.

his seed was leaking out of you, glop by glop, dripping down your bottom even more, as he kept going harder and rougher. splashes of your juices paired with his cum stained the bed, the squelching of your pussy becoming deafening with every smack of his heavy balls against the rim of your ass. and the tight grip he had on your locks wasn't helping his case.

"hah, you're gonna give your king his offspring? yeah? r' you gonna be a good little mother f'me? make me an heir?"

he asks, your head barely able to focus on anything other than trying to stay sane. you felt sooo full, but this apparently wasn't enough for sukuna, or his heavy urges to breed your sloppy cunt. you nod eagerly, not wanting him to go any harder than he already has. but with the way he kept abusing your womb, it seemed like you were enjoying it, as sukuna relishes in your facial expression, your eyes rolling back, your mouth hung open wide enough to stuff two of his free fingers in.

"you'd be such a good mother, so obedient too. you wanted to rile me up, didn't you? i'll give you what you want, woman."

moaning into his fingers, you swirl your tongue around his digits, making him hum contently. you try to focus your vision onto his eyes, but the way he pushed his chest further into yours, had you practically cross eyed. hitting a new angle, you felt yourself completely let go, officially adding onto your list of orgasms you had previously had that night.

he released his fingers from your mouth, a coat of your saliva stringing upon release. he ceases to pull out of you, instead letting himself nuzzle nicely into your warmth, releasing yet again inside of you, earning a whine of complaint on your behalf. he playfully slaps your cheek with his wet hand, trailing it down to your pussy, playing in the ring of his semen around his cock. you squirm slightly, as you watch him then bring his cum coated fingers up to your mouth, pushing them back inside your mouth, making you taste his seed, some of his cum pooling around your lips.

"does that taste good? i bet it does, since you seem to love my seed so much. i cant wait to see you so full, besides from right now, of course."

[dellalyra]

ᴇɴᴅɢᴀᴍᴇ - Mɪᴋᴇʏ sᴀɴᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 ���𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌？ 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒． 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗈𝗄𝗋𝖾𝗏 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗋𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇．𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾，𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝟤𝟢 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌．

𝖢𝖶： 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺， 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘤 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘮𝘦，𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦， 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦，𝘰𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦， 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦

“Who’s that…?” Takemichi asks, baffled at the sight of a very pretty girl - clad in ToMan uniform, standing beside Mitsuya laughing.

“Who?” Draken scans.

“Beside Mitsuya.”

“That, Takemitchi, is Mikey’s surprise.” Draken smirks, clapping the blonde on the back and once again inadvertently winding someone after forgetting not everyone is built like a refrigerator.

After a moment of recovering, coughing and wheezing, Takemichi continues his inquiries into the identity of the mystery girl.

“What do you mean Mikey’s surprise?”

“I forget you’re still a rookie. Just watch.” Draken smirk, crouching to sit on the steps of the shrine.

So, he did. The shrine grounds began to fill up as the other captains and their vices arrived. Takemichi’s eyes kept sliding to glance at the girl, leaning on her bike. The bike was certainly eye catching - matte black, with pink LED underlights and matching detailing. Sitting on the handlebars was a black helmet with LED lined cat ears poking from the top. She blended in well with the other ToMan members, chatting casually and seemingly in deep discussion about something with Mitsuya.

Was she Mitsuya’s girl? No - because why would that be a surprise for Mikey? That - and Mitsuya definitely had said he was single. She was definitely really pretty, a total eye catcher. She seemed roughly Mikey and Draken’s age, by the look of things.

After a while, and well past the expected time, the roar of the final expected motorcycle echoed through the shrine.

The black CB250T skidded to a stop, a rare lack of care for the beloved ‘Babu’. The blonde atop it leaped off the seat and sprinted toward the mystery girl, snatching her up by the waist and spinning her tight in his arms.

“Y/N-chan! You’re home!” Came Mikey’s (slightly muffled by the girls hair) voice, as the rest of ToMan’s inner circle laughed and cheered - seemingly part of a joke that Takemitchi didn’t understand.

A squeal came from the girl, as Mikey spun her faster.

“Manjiro Sano! You’ll give me motion sickness!” The girl, Y/N, laughed.

Still laughing, and with a bright smile and sparkling eyes that Takemitchi hadn’t seen on Mikey’s face before, he let her down with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“When did you get home?” He asks, setting the girl on her feet with the care of handling a porcelain teacup.

“Last night. Ken-chin picked me up from the train station, thought it would be fun to surprise you.” She says, fixing the lapel of Mikey’s jacket.

Mikey’s blonde head whipped around to Draken who lay smirking against his own bike.

“Ken-chin, you fucking traitor! You told me you’d tell me when you were picking her up so I could go too!” Mikey sulks.

A booming laugh comes from beside Takemichi as Draken hears Mikey’s complaint.

“Sorry for picking up my own damn sister!” The vice-commander shrugs.

Takemichi nods, thinking Draken had a point - wait… sister?

“Wait - Draken - you have a sister?!”

“You’re looking at her, kid.” Draken nods at Y/N, who waves and smiles from the vice grip hug-from-behind Mikey has her in.

“Half-sister. We had the same mom. Different dads. Kenny got the height. I’m Y/N, you must be Takemitchi.” She says, in a warm voice and kind eyes shining, stroking absentmindedly the hand Mikey has clutched around her waist.

“You’re never abandoning me again.” Mikey groans.

“I was gone for 2 months to look after my grandma, ‘Jiro.” Y/N laughs.

“2 months is too long! Ken-chin was all I had and he doesn’t smell like cherry blossom! I’m coming with you if you ever leave again.” Mikey stomps.

Takemichi takes note of how Mikey knows how you smell, and actively missed it - as well as the new name he’d heard for Mikey - ‘Jiro - you were the only person he’d heard call Mikey that.

In the background, Baji lifts the seat of the girls bike, and takes out a bag of candy hidden under some stuff.

“Knew it! Oi, Chifuyu, she still keeps the good stuff in the bike!” He said, skipping off toward Chifuyu with the candy in hand. You move to run after him, shouts of ‘Keisuke Baji, you fucking thief! I trusted that information to you!’ However, the struggle was a fruitless endeavour as Mikey refused to let you go from his vice like koala grip but did something that must be reserved solely for you and mid-shout of cursing Baji’s bloodline half a taiyaki was shoved in your mouth and you instantly settled down and smiled - mouth fun with a fish tail hanging out of you mouth and a pat to the arms on your waist.

Draken just laughs and Takemichi is reminded of the fact that the ToMan founders and a few others have been side by side, growing up together since barely in the double digits.

“Y/N’s my baby sister. There’s only a year and a half between us. Her pa was a little better than mine, he actually knew her, since he was a regular client - he’s pretty high up in gang shit in Kyoto. Still a useless prick, but she loves his mom - her grandma, she had a hip replacement 2 months ago so Y/N went to the countryside to take care of her for a while.” Draken explain to Takemichi while popping a fresh piece of gum in his mouth.

“Why didn’t you talk about her?” Takemichi asks.

“You talk about shit you miss?” Draken shrugs, gruff with the truth of missing his sister.

“So she’s ToMan too?” The rookie asks.

“Sure is. First division vice captain.” Draken nods, a hint of pride in his resolute face.

“Wait but - how? She doesn’t look -” Takemichi is interrupted quickly by a laughing Draken.

“Like she can fight an ant?”

“Exactly!”

“Size isn’t everything, look at Mikey. Underestimating that girl has lead many assholes go broken noses and split lips.” Draken smiles.

Takemichi supposes that’s probably accurate.

Baji walks over and plops himself down on Draken’s other side, half empty bag of candy in his hand.

“So how strong is she?” Takemichi asks, nodding to the girl now sat beside Mikey showing him pictures of the garden she helped tend with her grandma.

“Who?” Baji asks with a mouthful of sherbet.

“Your vice-captain.” Draken replies, snagging a candy out of the bag.

“She’s fast, that’s her strong point. Speed and agility. Could probably take Mitsuya.” Draken ponders, a sense of pride in the way he straightens his shoulders.

“Not in the way she’d like to take Mikey.” Baji snorts, before getting a smack on the head from the girls brother.

“It’s cute two sets of siblings are dating.” Takemichi points out.

“Huh?” Baji asks.

“Well, there’s the Sano siblings - Mikey and Emma, and Ryuguji siblings, you and Y/N.” Takemichi doesn’t know why he, the newcomer, had to explain.

“You and Emma are dating.” He says to Draken, who nods with a small smile.

“And Mikey and Y/N are dating.”

“Nope.” Baji pipes up.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re not dating.” Draken shakes his head.

“Wait - really?” This made no sense to Takemitchi. Wasn’t koala hugs, or something like sharing a treasured snack something romantic?

“Really.”

“Even the rookie sees it.” Baji laughs.

“But the way they act!”

“This has been going on for years, Takemitchi. They’re both fucking dumb. Neither of them are able to see how whipped the other is for them. Oblivious idiots.” The new voice made Takemitchi jump, not realising Mitsuya had slid in behind him.

“But they like each other?”

“Y/N admitted it to me, yeah.” Draken nods, which made sense.

“Mikey told me.” Baji says, wiping pink dust off his face.

“Some shit about being worried the other will reject them or more bullshit like that, I don’t fuckin’ know.” Draken grumbles.

All heads turn around to where the subjects of the conversation were sat.

Mikey was now sitting in the ground, on criss crossed legs between your knees as you sat on the step above and chatting animatedly about something while you used your fingers to comb through and retie his hair, the same way your brother did. The smile on your face as you listened to Mikey, and the way there was a visible tenderness to the way your fingers ran through his hair was more proof on your side, and Mikey was equally as obvious. When you finished, he lay his head on your thigh, and traces circles on your knee with a touch one may reserve for something fragile and smiled a real smile, a soft one, as you leaned down to nibble on the taiyaki in his hand.

Moments like this is when Takemichi is reminded that all the bad shit, all the timelines and the pain? It was all worth it - because a constant in every timeline was these two, and making it to the final one made him proud.

Now they’ll have their happy story. Their peaceful one.

Mikey does have his first official bike race next week, after all.

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | explicit | 7.1k | tags: Modern AU, Sex Worker Steve, Virgin Eddie, PWP, Sub Eddie/Soft Dom Steve | written for @subeddieweek | AO3 or complete fic under the cut)

As Steve waited in an impersonal hotel room for his new client to arrive, things began to feel a little off.

In truth, the term "client" there was somewhat unconventional. Three guys had hired him to surprise their friend Eddie on his birthday.

Just moments ago, Steve had received a text message from the guys telling him that they were about to bring Eddie to this very room under the guise of getting his present. What Eddie didn't know was that Steve was going to be that present.

One of the trio, a younger man named Garrett or Gareth, had only half-jokingly suggested that Steve should greet Eddie wearing nothing but a bow around his dick. Thankfully, the others had vetoed the idea, calling it cheesy and lame and saying it would only scare Eddie off. Steve couldn't help but feel a little offended by that because the last time his dick had frightened someone away had been in high school. He had been her first and she had been too intimidated by his size. Other than that, he had never had any complaints, thank you very much.

He hadn't talked to them directly when they had asked for his services; that was Robin's domain. She handled the initial negotiations, background checks, and vetting of potential clients before Steve even learned of their existence. Trusting Robin's judgment, he assumed these men were legitimate. Yet, there was something off about the whole situation.

Their lack of experience with this kind of thing was evident, demonstrated by their inquiry about kissing etiquette like this was Pretty Woman ("you have to tell Eddie if kissing is not okay dude") and their less-than-tactful remarks. When Steve had entered the hotel room, one of them, whom they had referred to as Freak, had made a comment about Steve certainly not being Eddie’s type, prompting Garrett/Gareth to reply "Nah, he secretly likes those pretty frat boy types, he'd just never admit it".

But it had been the quiet, earnest demeanor of Jeff, the third man, that had given Steve pause. Jeff had pulled him aside with a solemn plea to be careful with Eddie.

"Hey, man, you seem like a nice guy, and your manager Robin assured us that you'd take good care of Eddie. Just. Be gentle with him. He acts tough sometimes, but he deserves someone to be sweet to him, okay?"

Steve had just nodded dumbly, thrown by the unusual request. Most of the time his clients booked him directly, and while some had asked him to fuck them soft and slow, Jeff's request had sounded different to him. As if there was something they weren’t telling him about this Eddie.

Perhaps the guy had been hurt before, scarred by a past relationship, and now he approached any kind of intimacy with trepidation. Steve had had a few women hire him to help them get over something like that, so it wasn’t totally unheard of. No men had, but then again, he had only been offering his services to men for a few months, so maybe Eddie was just the first of his male clients with these kind of issues.

If Eddie was indeed struggling with past hurts, then Steve was determined to make him feel cherished and desired once again.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the sound of voices growing louder outside.

Fuck, Steve thought startled. Even though he had been waiting for them, it still came as a surprise that they were already there. One for which he felt completely unprepared, because it was only then that he began to think about how to position himself.

"I don't know why you couldn't just give it to me later or tomorrow, guys," someone said with amusement just outside the door. That must have been Eddie, he thought, and found that he liked his voice.

The next voice was Garrett/Gareth's. "Believe us, Eds, you want it now. Come on, hurry up."

"Okay, okay, fine. Since when are you more excited about me getting presents than I am?"

Steve opted for simplicity and decided to sit on the bed, leaning back with his hands behind him. It was casual and easy, but also showed off the long line of his body.

The sound of someone inserting their key card into the slot was followed by the handle being pushed down. Then the door to the room opened, revealing the lucky guy who would have him for the next two hours.

He’s pretty, was the first thing that came to Steve’s mind. Tall and slender, with a small waist and very nice arms decorated in black ink. Most stunning, however, was his face. The pale skin was a tantalizing contrast to his pink lips, dark hair framing high cheekbones and deep brown eyes that looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

Then, the door closed with a bang.

“Guys? There’s some dude sitting on my bed, you might wanna call security. I’ll hold down the door but you gotta hurry.” Eddie’s voice trembled slightly and Steve was torn between worry and amusement.

Faintly he heard the other men laughing and Eddie's indignant squeak. "What the hell are you laughing at? There`s a crazy stalker in my room! Probably armed and dangerous!"

"Oh yeah, I bet he has a big gun," Garrett/Gareth snorted, and Steve rolled his eyes at the very obvious, very bad joke. The guy probably thought he was really funny.

Eddie seemed to agree with Steve, even if unknowingly. "Har-bloody-har. Jeff, c'mon, tell me you at least take this seriously!"

This was one of those nights when Steve wished he had been smart enough, or at least ambitious enough to go to college, so he wouldn't have had to make money on the side dealing with shit like this. At least most of his clients were easier to deal with, if not as easy on the eyes as this Eddie.

"Eddie, trust me, you can open the door. He's harmless."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's your birthday present!" Freak interrupted, clearly losing patience. "Gareth's right, we should have just made him put a bow on his dick and be done with it. At least then we wouldn't be standing here arguing."

Steve wondered if they knew he could hear every word they were saying. Like everyone else in the surrounding rooms, because they weren’t exactly quiet. He just hoped nobody called the cops.

"He's... What the fuck? You can't just give someone a person, that's human trafficking!"

Obviously tired of making a scene outside a hotel room, Jeff just opened the door and pulled Eddie inside, trusting the others to follow. They did, closing the door behind them, and then they all looked at Steve, who was still sitting on the bed, regretting all his life choices that had led him there.

He gave a little wave with his fingers. "Surprise."

Eddie blinked at him, speechless, his mouth slightly ajar. Despite the situation, he remained unfairly attractive, his wide eyes stirring something in Steve that he hesitated to explore further. Steve's knowledge of Eddie was limited to his questionable choice of friends, yet he felt an inexplicable urge to shield him from the world, to keep him safe. The urge was unexpected in itself, but even more so in the intensity with which it hit him.

"This is Steve," Gareth introduced, stumbling over his words. "And, uh, well, he... yeah. Guys?" Gareth glanced around, hoping for support from the others, but they remained silent.

With the air of someone who didn’t expect any different, Steve rose from his spot on the bed and approached Eddie. As he stood before him, Steve was enveloped in a mixture of clean body spray, shampoo, and a faint whiff of cigarette smoke. Eddie's eyes, even larger up close, held a warm hue that was quite captivating.

Steve flashed a smile, aiming for a blend of reassurance and flirtation.

"I'm Steve, and for the next two hours, I can be whatever you need," he declared, though technically, twenty minutes had already elapsed. Nevertheless, for Eddie, Steve was willing to make an exception.

Eddie, inexplicably, horrifyingly, burst out laughing before slapping a hand over his own mouth, his eyes even wider than before as they looked at Steve in abject horror.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry. I wasn't laughing at you, it's just this whole situation is so... and then that sounded like... I feel like I stumbled into a porn plot."

Eddie looked embarrassed by his reaction, but Steve had to agree. It all felt a little ridiculous all of a sudden and he thought he could use that to his advantage, to make Eddie feel more comfortable.

"I guess you're not wrong," Steve laughed playfully, rubbing a hand across his neck. "That was a line that could have come out of a bad porno. Let me try again." He took Eddie's hand in his own and gave him a smile, a real one this time. "Hi, I'm Steve, and your friends hired me to be your birthday present. What that means is that I'm here to make sure you have a good time, a great one even. Just tell me what you'd like to do, as long as it's nothing crazy, I'm in. I don't do pain play, nothing that leaves bruises or cuts, no breath play, no hard kink of any kind and no barebacking."

"Oh my God, you are here as a sex gift," Eddie exclaimed way too loudly as Steve finished listing the things he wouldn't do, turning even paler. Steve was so focused on Eddie that he hadn’t even noticed the other men leaving the room, but upon seeing Eddie's shocked reaction, he realized they were already gone.

"I can't believe they hired a sex worker to deflower me. I told them to leave it the fuck alone. God, this is so fucking embarrassing," Eddie whined, burying his face in his hands with a long and anguished groan.

It tugged at Steve's heartstrings, the way Eddie pulled away from him, clearly embarrassed. His first instinct was to pull him into his arms and tell him it was okay, that Steve got him. But Eddie's words continued to ring in his ears as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place. Deflower me. As in, he was supposed to take Eddie's virginity. That's why the others had been so weird about it, and why Eddie had been so shocked and clueless when he found him in his room.

Jeff's words came back to him, "be gentle with him" and "he deserves someone to be sweet to him". It wasn't that Eddie was necessarily recovering from past hurts, but that there were no past experiences. Or maybe there had been, and that was why he had never gone all the way. Because looking at him, Steve had a hard time understanding how anyone could not want to sleep with Eddie.

"Eddie," Steve tried gently, "are you...have you ever had sex with anyone?"

Peering at Steve through his fingers, Eddie shook his head.

"Did you, I mean, have you done things like handjobs, blowjobs, anything like that?"

Another anguished groan as Eddie shook his head again.

"Making out? Kissing?" Steve had to know what he was working with here, because the last thing he wanted was to do something Eddie wasn't ready for.

This at least made Eddie lower his hands so that Steve could see the expression on his face. He looked even more embarrassed, his flushed cheeks red, but there was some indignation in his eyes. "I've kissed before. And made out with someone. Well, above the waist. And fully clothed. But it still counts!"

Eddie's voice sounded almost pleading and it left Steve aching for him. He had no idea why someone as gorgeous as Eddie hadn't had sex yet, but he knew he shouldn't act like there was something wrong with him because of it.

"Hey, man, it's okay. Really, I'm not judging you," Steve tried to reassure him. He was tempted to reach out and offer some physical comfort as well, but he wasn't sure how welcome that would be as Eddie laughed bitterly at his words.

"Oh, please. I'm judging me! I'm turning 30 today and no one's even touched my dick. I'm pathetic."

Steve did reach out to him then, placing a comforting hand on Eddie's shoulder. "Hey, come on now. There's nothing pathetic about it. Everyone's journey is different, and there's no rush."

Eddie sighed, his shoulders slumping under Steve's touch. "Easy for you to say. You've probably had more action than you can count."

Steve chuckled softly. "Maybe, but that doesn’t mean anything. Quality over quantity, right?"

Eddie gave him a weak smile, but the tension in his expression remained. "I just feel like I missed out on something, you know? I grew up in a small and even more small-minded town in Indiana where it was impossible to find another gay kid without risking getting beaten up or worse. They had it out for me anyway because...well, it doesn't matter. By the time I finally left and moved to Chicago, I was 21 and hadn't even kissed anyone except Lisa Green in eighth grade, which only confirmed what I already suspected. I made out with a few guys in clubs and bars here, but it always felt... wrong. I didn't need to be romanced or anything, but I just... I wanted to feel some kind of connection, y'know? But anyone who wanted to date me, I was too scared to tell them that I had no experience whatsoever, too in my head about it. And before I know it, I'm 30 years old and my friends are hiring an incredibly hot guy to pity-fuck me."

Steve nodded sympathetically. "It's not a pity fuck, Eddie. But I get it. Just, believe me, sex isn't everything. And it's definitely not a measure of your worth."

Eddie let out a bitter laugh. "Tell that to my libido."

Steve couldn't help but laugh along with him. "Fair point. But seriously, Eddie, there's nothing wrong with taking your time. When the right moment comes along, you'll know.”

With an expression of utter defeat, Eddie mumbled. “Figured not even someone getting paid for it would want to sleep with me.” Then, he turned around and walked over to the door. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, Steve. Thank you for being so nice.”

“Whoa, wait a second. I never said I don’t wanna sleep with you. I just assumed, y’know, that you’d want to wait for the right guy.”

Eddie looked like a kicked puppy. “It’s fine Steve, I understand. There’s nothing sexy about a 30 year old virgin, you don’t have to lie.” Then, hanging his head, he pulled his shoulders up to his ears and put his hands in his pockets, making himself as small as humanly possible while still standing.

Steve couldn't stand to see Eddie so down on himself any longer, so he decided to show him exactly how much he wanted to sleep with him by simply pulling his shirt over his head, leaving him naked from the waist up. Then he reached down, unzipped his pants and stepped out of them as well, so that he was standing in front of Eddie in nothing but his underwear. He hoped to make himself at least a quarter as vulnerable as Eddie must have felt at that moment.

"Eddie, please look at me." When Eddie did, his eyes roamed over Steve's body as if he couldn't help himself, and Steve felt their gaze like a physical touch. He was accustomed to people looking at him with hunger and desire, and while Eddie's face showed signs of both, there was something else in his expression—a hint of longing, if Steve were pressed to put a name to it.

As the seconds ticked by, Steve wondered if Eddie would ever grow tired of drinking him in, since he showed no signs of being done anytime soon. But Steve began to suspect that maybe Eddie wasn't doing anything else because he didn't know what or how, so Steve had to take the lead here.

Closing the distance between them, he took Eddie's hands again, but this time he didn't hold them; he placed them on his hips. "You can touch me, Eddie. I want you to. I want you. So if you want me too, all you have to do is tell me." When Eddie continued to look at him wide-eyed, Steve asked him in his softest, most encouraging voice, "What do you want, Eddie?"

"I don't know." Eddie's hands on his hips trembled slightly, but his grip tightened, thumbs running up and down Steve's flanks. "You. Whatever you want."

Well, that was easy. "I want to make you feel good. Can I?"

"Please."

No one had ever looked at Steve the way Eddie did at that moment. It was as if Steve was the last drop of water in the desert—not like he wanted Steve, but like he needed him.

Steve cupped his face in his hands and pulled him close, whispering in the infinitesimal space between them, "I got you, baby," before sealing their lips in a tender kiss.

True to his words, Eddie kissed him back as if he had kissed people before, even if not very often. His lips still moved a little awkwardly against Steve's, but what he lacked in experience he made up for in feeling. Not even his actual girlfriends had ever kissed him the way Eddie was kissing him right now - like he couldn't believe he was allowed to do it, wavering between greedy hunger and grateful adoration that made Steve's head spin.

As they kissed, Steve felt a rush of warmth flood through him, a sensation he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was more than just physical attraction; there were the first stirrings of an emotional connection forming between them, one that felt utterly inappropriate within the confines of their current situation.

On the other hand, Steve reasoned with himself, Eddie deserved someone who would be sweet to him, as Jeff had put it. Given how he was starting to feel about Eddie, that wasn't going to be a challenge at all.

Breaking the kiss reluctantly, Steve rested his forehead against Eddie's, their breaths mingling in the space between them. "You're amazing, Eddie," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink and he smiled shyly. "Thank you. You're not so bad yourself."

Steve chuckled softly, a warmth spreading in his chest at Eddie's response. "What do you say we take this to the bed?"

Eddie nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Good," Steve said, taking Eddie by the hips as well and beginning to slowly walk them backwards, their eyes never leaving each other's.

As they made their way to the bed, Steve's heart pounded with anticipation. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was a pivotal moment, one that could change everything for him.

Once they reached the bed, Steve gently guided Eddie to sit down, their knees touching as they faced each other. The air between them crackled with tension, charged with the promise of what was to come.

Steve took Eddie's hands in his own, his touch gentle yet firm. "Eddie, I want you to know that we don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," he said softly, wanting to reassure him.

Eddie met his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and desire. "I trust you, Steve," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. Steve had no idea how Eddie could trust him so easily after just meeting him, but he vowed to do right by him and not betray the trust placed in him.

With a gentle smile, Steve leaned in to kiss Eddie again, his lips meeting Eddie's with a tender urgency. This time Steve took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue into the wet heat of Eddie's mouth, gently coaxing Eddie to join him in exploring each other.

The first tentative touch of Eddie's tongue to his own sent sparks of electricity through him and he would have been embarrassed by the moan that fell from his lips had it not been for the almost violent shudder that went through Eddie at the simple touch. When their lips parted, Steve glanced at the other man and found him looking tense, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs, and suddenly his reaction made sense.

"Baby, you can touch me. Don't hold back, I want you to show me how good I make you feel."

Closing his eyes with a pained expression, Eddie sighed deeply, defeated. "I feel like I don't know how. I don't want to mess it up. I mean, you must be used to incredible sex and then there's me, probably accidentally pinching you or something."

"Eddie," Steve said, wrapping his own hands around Eddie's clenched ones, "I'm sorry to break it to you, but you'll never learn if you don't try. It's like riding a bike. You can't learn it in theory, you have to get on it and ride it." And because Steve worried that might have been a little harsh, he added: "I'm your training wheels, and after tonight you can upgrade to a bike without them." Uncurling Eddie's hands and intertwining their fingers, Steve nudged their shoulders together. "Soooo. Wanna go for a ride?"

Eddie's lips twitched into a small smile at Steve's analogy, and some of the tension seemed to ease from his shoulders. "Okay, maybe I can give it a try," he said, his voice uncertain but determined.

Steve couldn't help but admire Eddie's bravery in the face of his own insecurities. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss against Eddie's forehead, offering silent encouragement.

With a deep breath, Eddie tentatively began to explore Steve's body, his touch hesitant yet eager. Steve guided him with soft murmurs of encouragement, reassuring him every step of the way.

At some point, Steve shifted back onto the bed and lay down on the sheets, offering more of himself to Eddie's curious hands. They were especially drawn to his chest, scratching the thick hair, and when Steve made an appreciative sound, Eddie let them wander to Steve's nipples.

"Start slow, run your thumb over them." Eddie did as Steve told him, and Steve noticed how every encouragement from him seemed to hit Eddie with another wave of arousal. His eyes darkened even more after Steve told him, "Just like that, baby. You're doing so good, learning so fast. Now try adding some spit so your thumb glides easier."

Eddie had been eagerly and obediently following his instructions the whole time, so Steve wasn't surprised when he immediately went to put Steve's latest order into action. What he didn't expect, however, was that Eddie would simply put his mouth on his nipple instead of wetting his thumb with it.

"Fuck," he moaned, his hands digging into Eddie's hair without his conscious decision, desperately trying to keep his mouth on his chest. "So good for me, such a good boy, just like that."

His words only spurred Eddie on, who moaned needily at his words, and as his confidence grew, so did his boldness. Steve felt the first tentative touch of teeth against his skin, setting his nerves on fire, and he encouraged Eddie to keep going by tugging at his curls. "Harder, baby."

Being the wonderful, beautiful, good boy that he was, Eddie went harder, his teeth making sure to leave marks on his chest. It was an intoxicating feeling to be laid out here, almost naked, while Eddie was still fully clothed, and yet it was Steve who was in control.

So far he had been able to ignore his cock, hard and heavy and leaking into his trunks. But it was getting harder and harder, pun intended, to keep his need for relief in check. It wasn't often that a client made him feel like he was about to lose his mind with lust, but Eddie was shaping up to be his exception in so many ways.

"Baby, you're incredible. I'm so hard for you, I need you to touch me or I'll lose my goddamn mind."

That finally gave Eddie pause. Pulling back from his mission to cover every inch of Steve's chest in bruises and bite marks, he lifted his head and looked down at where Steve's hard cock was obscenely tenting his trunks.

Watching Eddie wet his lips with his tongue, Steve decided to take a chance. "Can you take them off for me, darling? They're getting awfully uncomfortable."

That startled Eddie out of his silent reverie, his big brown eyes, which had captivated Steve from the start, turning to him. "You mean..."

"Only if you want to. We're not doing anything you're not ready for," Steve made sure to reassure him once again that while Steve was taking the lead here, Eddie was the one calling the shots. If he told him to stop, Steve would, no questions asked. "But if you're afraid of getting it wrong, I want you to know that nothing has ever felt as right as your hands and mouth on me. You couldn't get it wrong if you tried, baby."

It seemed to be just the right thing to say because Eddie leaned down to capture Steve's lips in another kiss, his weight balanced on his forearm next to Steve's head. His hand, still resting on Steve's chest, began to move again, fingertips dancing across his ribs and down his stomach until they reached their destination just above his waistband.

Eddie had moved to lie more comfortably next to Steve when he had let his hands and mouth map Steve's body, but now he positioned himself next to Steve's knees.

He looked up at Steve as his fingers curled around the waistband of his trunks, and tougher men than Steve would have had a hard time not falling in love with him right then and there. His lips, still slick with spit from their kiss, were slightly parted while his bottomless eyes looked at Steve with something akin to worship. Steve's fingers had done a great job of making his dark curls look even messier, and he was almost as proud of that as he was of the red flush that adorned Eddie's throat and cheeks.

"Do it," he order-pleaded, and Eddie listened as he had all night, pulling down Steve’s last piece of clothing and throwing it on the floor next to the bed.

The expression on his face was almost comical, breaking the thick tension in the room for a moment. Steve knew he wasn't exactly small. Not even average, but it had been a while since anyone had stared at his dick like it was a venomous snake.

"It won't bite you, I promise," he joked as the silence between them stretched on.

That at least got a snort out of Eddie, even if his eyes were still glued to his hard and leaking cock, which didn't seem to mind being stared at with a mixture of apprehension and wonder.

"I know that. It's just..." Eddie began before trailing off.

A thought occurred to Steve. "You've seen a dick before, right?"

In retrospect it might have been a bit insulting and a lot stupid to ask, but then again this wasn't exactly his area of expertise.

"Yes, Steve. Besides my own, I've seen dicks. Just not... y'know... a monster dick like that. I mean, fuck. Are you sure this thing will even fit?"

His first reaction was to laugh, because Eddie was funny and adorable in his incredulity, but the laughter died rather quickly as the rest of his words registered with Steve.

"Fit? As in - do you want me to fuck you?"

That finally made Eddie blink up at him, tilting his head like a confused puppy. "Um, yeah? I thought that was the plan all along."

It wasn't. Steve thought he'd show Eddie the ropes, how to handle another body, so he could experience his first time with someone he genuinely cared about. Not that Steve had that when he lost his virginity, but he thought Eddie deserved it.

But if Eddie was sure, Steve was more than happy to oblige. "Just checking in. And don't worry. It'll fit. It always has, it just takes a little patience and a lot of lube." When Eddie still looked a little doubtful, he added, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." No hesitation, and that made the dangerous feeling in his chest glow brighter.

"Good, that makes it even easier. You need to be comfortable, relaxed. The more you can let go, the easier it will be."

Eddie nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Okay, Steve. You're the expert. I trust you. Just. Remember, I have no idea what I'm doing, okay?"

Steve sat up and cupped Eddie's cheek in his hand. "I know, and I'll take good care of you, I promise," Steve promised, sealing it with a kiss.

After they parted, he tugged at Eddie's shirt. "You're awfully overdressed, sweetheart. Mind if I help you get out of these?"

With Eddie's consent, Steve undresses him, slowly, reverently. He removed each piece of clothing with the same care as he would handle a precious gem, his hands gentle, making sure to appreciate every inch of skin that was revealed to him. And after his hands have had their fill, his mouth follows, his lips branding his ownership in invisible writing all over Eddie's body.

He paid special attention to Eddie's tattoos, and when he found the nipple piercings, Steve's brain short-circuited. He only stopped playing with them when Eddie was writhing and whimpering from the stimulation, his arousal clear in the way sweat slicked his skin and the outline of his hard cock was visible through his skin-tight jeans.

"Steve, please," he begged, and Steve was pretty sure Eddie didn't even know for what.

"Shh, I got you, baby," Steve had cooed in reply before continuing his mission to get Eddie naked and under him.

Soon the positions were reversed and Eddie was spread out on the bed, naked and wanting, while Steve was kneeling beside him, his hand stroking Eddie's thigh soothingly as he drank him in.

"Fuck, Eddie, I wish you could see yourself right now. You're so fucking beautiful, the prettiest thing I've ever seen. I can't believe you let me have you."

Eddie squirmed, clearly turned on but still self-conscious. Steve vowed to make the latter go away and replace it with nothing but mindless pleasure, helping Eddie let go and float on all the good feelings Steve would make him feel.

He had gotten the lube and a condom out of his bag while Eddie had made himself comfortable, placing them both next to them on the bed. Now he spread some lube on his fingers and warmed it up as he moved to climb between Eddie's legs. His own cock had gone back to half hard, but showed some renewed interest when Eddie immediately spread his legs wider to make room for him.

"Such a good boy, you're just perfect, you know that?"

Then Steve rewarded his good boy with the first finger in his virgin whole. He didn't want it to matter, and it didn't, not in the way Eddie thought it would. But the thought that he was the first to see Eddie like that, to feel him clench around the foreign intrusion before slowly, gradually relaxing as Steve continued to stroke the inside of his thigh with his other hand? It all made more heat pool in his groin, his cock full and heavy again between his own legs.

"That's it," Steve encouraged him as his finger sank in to his knuckle, " taking it so well. How does it feel, baby?"

"Weird," Eddie said truthfully, before wriggling his hips. "Full. Not bad, just. Weird."

Steve took that as all the encouragement he needed to start pumping the finger in and out in imitation of what he planned to do to Eddie with his cock. It went easily and soon Eddie was matching his thrusts with his hips. "That's right, take what you need. You look so good fucking yourself on my finger, sweetheart. You'll look even better on my cock."

Judging that Eddie was ready for a second finger, he leaned forward and softly called for Eddie to look at him. When he did, lifting his head from where he had pressed it into the pillow, Steve caught his eyes and held them as he slowly closed his lips around Eddie's hard cock, taking it into his mouth inch by delicious inch.

It worked like a charm as Eddie was too busy throwing his head back with a broken moan to even notice Steve adding another finger. It was only when he started pumping both fingers in and out while still licking and sucking on Eddie's cock like his favorite ice cream that Eddie seemed to notice, tightening around him for a moment before relaxing again.

Steve rewarded him with a clever swirl of his tongue and a well-aimed crook of his fingers that made Eddie scream.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck was that," Eddie gasped as Steve pulled off of him with an obscenely wet sound.

With a third finger prodding at Eddie's slick hole, Steve grinned up at him. "Your prostate."

"I thought that was a myth."

"Nope, not a myth. Just hard to reach by yourself."

He took Eddie back into his mouth, his finger persistently nudging at his entrance until it finally slipped in alongside his other two fingers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eddie balling the sheets in his clenched fists, trying not to thrash around too much. The thought of feeling that around his cock was almost too much, as Eddie was incredibly responsive and Steve had to think of something unpleasant for a second to calm himself.

Steve continued to blow and finger Eddie until he could feel Eddie's cock hardening even more in his mouth, signaling his impending orgasm. His three fingers sank into him like a warm knife into butter, no resistance whatsoever, so Steve considered Eddie ready to try and take his 'monster dick' as he had so eloquently put it earlier.

Eddie's whimper as he pulled his fingers out of his body sounded desperate, and when Steve also pulled off his dick, Eddie was right back to begging.

"Please, Steve, I was so close, so fucking close, I need you, please," he babbled, exactly in that mindless place where only his own pleasure mattered instead of his own insecurities.

In a true display of multi-tasking, Steve managed to stroke Eddie's thigh soothingly while simultaneously ripping the condom wrapper open with his teeth. It was almost a shame that Eddie was so far gone that he didn't even notice.

Next time, Steve thought, immediately chastising himself for getting ahead of himself. There was no guarantee that Eddie would want to go out with the guy his friends had paid to deflower him.

"Shh, baby, almost there, just getting ready to make you feel really good. I can't wait to be inside you, Eddie, you have no idea."

Slicking his condom-covered cock, Steve took a pillow from the bed and placed it under Eddie's hips before wrapping Eddie's right leg around his waist as he positioned himself. Eddie looked up at him with dazed eyes, like he was still floating somewhere, not quite here. And even though Steve wanted him to remain there, he needed Eddie's attention right now.

"Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me, can you do that?" He could tell it was a struggle, but shaking his head like he was clearing cowebs, Eddie came back to him. "Thanks, baby, you're still so good for me, aren't you?" Eddie nodded eagerly and Steve continued. "I need you to be a good boy and do what I tell you. When I push in, I need you to press down on it as if you were trying to push me out. Can you try that?" Another nod, this one firm, determined. "And breathe, baby, deep breaths. I got you, we'll take it as slow as you need."

And with that, Steve began to push in, trusting Eddie to work with him. And he did, beautifully, doing exactly what Steve told him to do. Still, it was clear that it was a lot to take, his cock even thicker and longer than his three fingers. It was slow going, every inch fought for, and by the time Steve was halfway in they were both covered in sweat, so Steve decided to take a short break.

Eddie was having none of it, though, and looked up at him pleadingly. "Steve? Please don't stop. I want you inside."

"But I am already inside," Steve reminded him, as if Eddie had forgotten how he was being impaled on Steve's cock right now.

"More." Reaching out for Steve with his hand, Eddie replied with only one word, but it was enough to make Steve fall forward, inadvertently sinking a little further.

He didn't try to stop again.

Then, finally, blessedly, Steve sank all the way in, Eddie's muscles relaxing enough to let him in entirely. It wasn't his first time, far from it, but it could very well have been from the way it made him feel to be enveloped in Eddie's tight heat. Steve couldn't tell who was looking more starry-eyed, Eddie or him, as they stared at each other in wonder.

"You feel," Steve began, suddenly at a loss for words. "Like nothing I've ever felt before."

"Move," Eddie pleaded in reply, his eyes traitorously bright. "Please, Steve."

Steve could never deny him, not when he begged like that, so he simply kissed Eddie's cheek, his nose, and then his lips as his hips withdrew before sinking back in. Picking up a slow and easy rhythm, Steve began to move and soon Eddie was meeting him thrust for thrust.

They moved together in a slow, sensual dance, each touch and caress igniting a fire within them. Each thrust tore another sound from their throats, muffled by each other's lips, because try as he might, he couldn't stop kissing Eddie. And as they lost themselves in the heat of the moment, Steve knew he wouldn't come back from it unchanged. He already felt a sense of connection unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was as if they were two pieces of a puzzle finally coming together, fitting perfectly.

He just hoped that Eddie felt the same, that it wasn't just the magic of firsts that made him gasp and beg and say things that made Steve's heart soar as much as his cock twitch.

"Steve, Steve, Steve," he cried, his voice cracking, "oh God, I never thought...fuck," another moan as Steve hit his prostate once more. "How do people do anything but this?" Eddie marveled as he tightened around Steve, desperately wanting him to press against that wonderful spot inside him. "I never want to leave this bed again, just let you fuck me all day long."

Oh, how much Steve would love that too. To stop himself from saying something crazy like 'yes, please move in with me so we can fuck as often as possible', he reached for Eddie's hand on his hip and intertwined their fingers next to Eddie's head, squeezing his hand instead of spilling all his messy feelings.

The new position had him sinking further down on Eddie, Eddie's hard cock trapped between their bellies and the added friction had him gasping and panting. "Fuck, Steve, I'm so close."

"Yeah, me too, baby. Can you be a good boy and hold on a little longer for me?"

Unable to form any more words, Eddie just nodded. Steve rewarded him with another deep kiss as his hips picked up speed, his thrusting becoming more powerful as he finally allowed himself to chase his own pleasure. He wanted, needed them to come together, and judging by the copious amount of pre-cum smeared against their bellies and the way Eddie's cock kept twitching, Eddie was really close.

As he felt the telltale signs of his own orgasm spreading through him, his balls tightening and the feeling of a coil in his groin being pulled tight enough to snap at any moment, he lowered his face to Eddie's ear, took the lobe between his teeth and tugged at it to get his attention. Then, putting every ounce of heat, lust and desire he felt right now into his voice, he rasped, "Come for me, baby."

Without a hand on him, Eddie came with a sound that burned itself into Steve's memory and would surely haunt his dreams for weeks and months to come.

Overwhelmed by Eddie's sounds as he lost himself in his own pleasure, his hips bucking and grinding, Steve couldn't help but follow him over the edge. When he finally came, it was almost painful in its intensity and he could barely keep himself upright.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to catch his breath, and even longer to pull himself away from Eddie long enough to get rid of the condom and fetch a washcloth from the bathroom to clean the cum from their bellies and chests.

Then he turned off the light, crawled back into bed with Eddie and pulled the covers over them before drawing Eddie into his arms, who went willingly, still suspiciously quiet. Steve would have been more concerned had it not been for the dazed smile on his face, so he decided to let him be for the moment, basking in the afterglow as he continued to stroke Eddie's back.

What felt like hours later, as they lay tangled in each other's arms, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window, Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Eddie's temple, feeling a surge of affection and contentment wash over him.

"I'm glad you decided to go for that ride," he whispered, warmth coloring his voice.

Eddie snuggled closer, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Me too," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of happiness and wonder.

And as they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's embrace, Steve knew he had found something truly special in Eddie. Tomorrow he would tell Robin to give the guys their money back because Eddie hadn't been a client from the start. It was way too soon to even think about it, but deep down he hoped that theirs would be the kind of love that was as beautiful and enduring as the stars in the night sky.

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus III.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit not SFW, mommy issues galore, some psychological horror elements, yandere themes, and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 15.6k.

Nexus index.

When you dream of your mother, it’s in a lotus field.

Everyone’s psyche manifests itself in a distinct way, echoes the teachings she left behind. This is yours. 

The bioluminescent petals cower inward as if hiding a terrible secret. Some bloom along the hazy ground, others swing in the air, suspended by strings hung from a glass dome overhead. 

In this dream, you cannot speak, though you have much to say. 

Gentle as you may be, each step you take to close the gap between you and her demands a sacrifice. The flower’s vibrancy drains like color from a dying man’s face. From the stem upward, it decays. To try and save it is to kill it faster. Brittle fragments crumble into ashen piles that scratch at your bare feet. 

Her back remains facing you. 

You have no way of earning her attention. She is blind to the frantic waving of your arms, deaf to the eroding necropolis you leave in your wake. 

You’re certain you’ll never reach her. Still, you try, only to fail all the same. 

With each passing dream, a crack along your glass dome spreads. It started too small to see and is now too large to fix. Is it best to let it shatter? Could it be the silent warden that cordons you off from a universe you know yet have never experienced? 

Or is it the final bastion that shields you? 

A devastating attack on the Thelx’s main guide causes cataphoric damage to the quadrant’s sixth residential district. The aftershocks resulted in the collapse of multiple buildings, resulting in injuries for hundreds and a rising death toll that currently stands at 34. Local residents have filed complaints for years now, listing concerns that the most recent building inspections have not resulted in appropriate measures taking place. 

“We all knew something bad was bound to happen,” said one woman who happened to be visiting family in Ade during the incident. “We knew, but where else are we supposed to go? Our choices were to stay put and take our chances or try surviving in Arc. No one wanted that. But now…. seeing this… maybe Arc would’ve been better.”

An investigation into the matter is being spearheaded by Chrysus, Ade’s Exalted Regent. 

We reached out to Chrysus’ team for a statement and have yet to receive a response. 

Rumors are swirling online that the attack was targeted at Thelx’s Exalted Arbiter, [First] Phaeales, the single daughter of the deceased Ania Phaeales. A spokesperson for Thelx’s fledgling matriarch has confirmed her safety, though she received minor injuries. Thelx is expected to endure further economic hardship due to the IPC’s recent travel ban. The LOTUS-EATER and similar establishments constitute up to 43% of Thelx’s total gross domestic product—

“It’s rude to read when you have a guest over,” Nona chides. 

“Sorry.” 

You turn your phone off and place it beside the other ornaments atop your vanity. Makeup, jewelry, hair ornaments, and one of the only gifts your mother ever gave; a lotus made of iridescent crystals. It’s sat untouched for years and you assume it will continue to do so. 

Nona, who has helped herself to lying on your bed, rolls over onto her stomach. Both her cheeks squish together as she holds her head up by tiny fists, her elbows digging into your comforter for support. She draws her lips into a thin line. There’s a hollowness to her gaze that rivals the mask she wore when you first met. 

“Why do you care so much?” 

Her inquiry leaves you temporarily at a loss for words. “... What?” 

“About people you haven’t met,” she clarifies. “Whose names you don’t even know. To them, you’re nothing but a glorified mascot to blame when things go bad and praise when things go right.” 

Your mouth is too dry for you to swallow. “Each life in Thelx has been entrusted to me.” 

“So? Did everyone come up to you one by one and ask for your stewardship?” 

“Of course not, don’t be unreasonable.” 

“I’m the one being unreasonable?” Nona barks a caustic laugh. “Have you seen what these people have been saying? ‘Let’s pack up the family and move to Arc!’, as if any of them could survive there for more than the instant their foot crosses over the divide. It’s hilarious! The funniest joke I’ve heard in some time.” 

Your eyes narrow. “That’s enough. The community is understandably hurt. Frightened. When tragedies happen, we each have our ways of making sense of things.” 

She pushes herself up and sits crisscross. “I’m just saying I’d like to see them try. Me… I would’ve given anything to have been born here. An organ, a limb, whatever. At least I’d be hobbling around where there’s light and warmth.” 

“Nona…” 

“They don’t know. They have no idea,” Nona trembles. “People make Arc out to be something it isn’t. ‘Look at how free they are, they can live as they please, answering to no one but themselves!’ Funnily enough, the IPC said the same thing when they built Perianth, didn’t they? Got the whole universe feeling warm and fuzzy. The poor, the wretched, the damned; they’re hideous up close, so let’s tuck them far away from the light. Then we don’t have to see them.”

She hangs her head. “Experiencing rejection from the rejected… that’s what they can look forward to in Arc. Anything else is a pipe dream.” 

You get up from your chair and sit down next to her on the bed. Finding a blanket, you toss it over your shoulder, extra prudent to avoid any accidental contact. Glassy amber eyes blink slowly as you pat the cushioned spot. She starts leaning in, only to pause a few inches shy of her intended target. You don’t need to be in her head to guess what reel she’s flicking through. When the feature film’s end credits roll, she rests her head on your shoulder. 

“Lear’s worried about you, y’know.” 

“I know.” 

“Loopy would be too, if it were sentient.” 

“It’s possible.” 

“...” 

She whispers your name, hesitant, as if she were a child preparing to ask their parents for a gift they know they can’t have.

“If I could, I’d wish that all the stars in the universe would burn so bright, so hot, that each person would melt away like ice until only us three remain. The poor, wretched, and damned. Our happiness would be unrivaled if there were no one else to compare ourselves to. You don’t know misery if no one ever tells you you’re miserable.” 

Or maybe you invent new miseries for yourself, you think. Then, with no one to compare yourself to… would you not be the most miserable person in the universe? 

You could voice your musings but to verbalize them now feels wrong. Instead, you choose to let her live the wish that will never come true. In this pocket dimension, beyond the four walls of your room, nothing exists. No Thelx, Perianth II, Stellaron Hunter or IPC. There are only two jagged shards who have abandoned being whole again. You might not click together like puzzle pieces, perfectly falling into place to form a seamless image, but you can look at the pane you broke free from and decide for yourself if the result was worth it. 

Choosing between two evils is better than being stuck with one. 

“Nona,” you break the silence. If there’s anything you’ve been doing too much of lately, it’s dwelling on factors beyond your control. 

“Hm?” 

“That flower bouquet,” you nod toward the magenta-colored roses on your vanity, which she brought in earlier. “There was a message attached to it, wasn’t there?” 

She stiffens. 

“... Possibly.” 

You knew a ‘gift’ from Miss 10.899 billion wouldn’t come without some poisonous flourish. The roses don’t have thorns, so the sharpness must lay elsewhere. 

“What did it say?” 

“You really want to know?” 

“I’m asking, aren’t I?” 

She deflates like a balloon pricked by a needle, then mumbles, “The tag said ‘Get well soon.’”

Ah, you think. If I could have anyone melt away… she’d certainly be high on the list.

You haven’t spoken one word to Blade since he carried your unconscious body back to the LOTUS-EATER. 

Regardless, he’s still around. He isn’t some option in your settings you can turn off with a single button press. He hasn’t initiated contact while you healed from your injuries, which consisted of a sprained ankle, two broken ribs, and minor abrasions peppered throughout. Your high position ensured you’d receive the best medical care Eris has to offer. 

Fourteen total cycles have passed since the Thelx nectar guide bombing. 

Fourteen dreary cycles filled with nothing but eating bland food, taking bitter medication, and dreaming the same gloomy dream. 

During this festive stretch, Nona has been your primary visitor. Lear restricted himself to electronic communication, fearing the emotional reaction he’d experience from seeing you in this state might harm you. They’ve both taken to distracting you in their own fashion. Nona shows you pictures, such as the googly eyes she put on Loopy, or discusses the strangest psyches she’s seen from clients. One client’s mind manifested itself as a drumstick. 

“Not even a pair, just one,” she giggled. “Hey, don’t start lecturing me about our privacy policy. I see you fighting back a smile. That absolves me from breaking my NDA.” 

Then there’s Lear who laser focuses on your health. At least 80% of his texts follow the ‘Have you x’ format. Stretched, taken medicine, slept, eaten; you half expect him to start asking if you’ve breathed enough. 

The timer you’ve set for your tea goes off. 

You pull the teabag out, dispose of it, and then stir the ruby-colored concoction. Golden flecks swirl in a violent vortex. Content, you throw on a diaphanous, cape-like outer garment over your loungewear. The fabric is deceptively delicate to the eye yet has been synthesized to preserve heat. 

The components that open your bedroom door at your behest emit a low hum. The lack of use must’ve spoiled them. This is the first time you’ve emerged from your hibernation. The light system in your office whirs to life upon your return. You wave off the visual assault. Your eyes have become so accustomed to the dark that you’ll need to build your light tolerance back up. 

After inputting the proper passcode, you pass through to the balcony. 

And then immediately regret it when Blade’s back is the first thing that greets you. 

He’s in a meditative stance. The gales of loud emotion that normally engulf him have quieted down to a hush. From this position, you can see how his long ebony strands cascade down his back, the tips taken on a reddish hue. A pearlescent sheen shimmers along the outline of his body, the moon’s personal gift. When one thinks of a stereotypical warrior, certain biases culminate in the rough image of some brute, like a brigand from a child’s fairytale. 

However, seeing him like this, exuding poise and temperance, you think he fits the role of prince. 

You take a step back. 

“You can stay,” his voice slashes through your entangled thoughts, “I’ll go inside.” 

A beast slithers in the calm waters as soon as he stops his meditation. It isn’t voracious or on the hunt. No, you get the distinct feeling it finds pleasure in lurking just below the surface, not creating so much as a ripple to deter its prey. Waiting and waiting. By the time some poor soul enters and realizes they aren’t alone, it’s too late. Multiple rows of pointed teeth have already pierced their flesh. 

You block his path with your body, an act that’s equally confounding to him as it is to you. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say. Your boldness fizzles out beneath the weight of his stare. “If… that’s alright.” 

He considers you briefly. You expect him to walk away without sparing you another glance, but it must be his turn to foster confusion. He turns around and sits on the chair to the left, as he did when you first became acquainted. After what feels like a delay in your neurons providing information to your brain, you sit beside him. It occurs to you that your little balcony is in excellent shape even though you haven’t been able to maintain it. 

You look at him from the corner of your eye. 

Has he been keeping this area clean? 

Oddly enough, it’s Blade who prompts further conversation. “How are your injuries?” 

“My ankle’s fully recovered and my ribs only hurt if I move too much. I’ve got nothing to complain about.” 

You take a sip of your concoction. A sweet, herbal flavor dances on your tongue with a hint of spice. These tea leaves are one of the few that can grow on Eris in an artificial environment. You added a spoonful of the Nectary’s tonic to complement the taste. It’s a drink popularly referred to as ambrosia. 

“How about you? Have you healed— oh, um.” You raise your hand to cover your traitorous mouth. It can prevent more words from coming out, but it can’t take back what’s already been said. 

“I have, unfortunately.” 

“‘Unfortunately?’” You repeat back, though the sound is muffled. You wince. So much for putting an end to your bluntness. 

“You’re acting reserved,” he dryly notes. “Is this the same woman who takes every chance to tell me off?” 

“Hey, I don’t take every chance to—” You throw your head back in exasperation upon seeing the beginning of a self-satisfied smirk. “... I shouldn’t… have behaved as… candidly as I did. It’s unprofessional.” 

“‘That part,’ huh,” Blade mutters. “You don’t have to section off parts of yourself, you choose to.” 

The tea’s aftertaste turns bitter. 

To be whole is a privilege Blade doesn’t have, you think. If he allowed that, then… would he really be ‘Blade’ anymore? 

You stare down at the distorted reflection the tea provides, ripples distorting your likeness before you can confirm his claim. Your hands must be trembling. 

“I advised against it for a reason. My mind is unsightly.” 

“It isn’t that!” you turn your head toward him, catching how he furrows his eyebrows at your outburst of emotion, “What I did… it wasn’t right. I took advantage of your vulnerable state and tried to manipulate you. Control you. A violation like that… it’s unforgivable.”

Anytime a situation threatens to spiral beyond your control, you resort to what you supposedly swore off. 

I’ll only do it this once, the circumstances call for it, you’d tell yourself. No more after that. I mean this time, I really do. It won’t happen again.

Until it does.

Alister with his weapon. Blade after he saved your life. Lear when the loneliness felt excruciating.

Your chest feels like it’s hosting a colony of crawling maggots ready to burst through your flesh. It hurts, this slimy, despicable filth that you scrub raw only to dirty again. Not trusting yourself with the fragile teacup, you set it down. 

“So that’s what you consider a sin,” Blade says. “You oppose incarceration and yet you're a prisoner to your own guilt.” 

“That’s different.” 

“Even so, one is far worse than the other. I should know; I’ve experienced both. If I could choose between a physical prison or my mind, I’d pick the former.” 

You recall the gargantuan structure that is Blade’s repressed psyche. The oppressive atmosphere, how it stood alone, far removed from anything resembling hope. 

If it’s of Xianzhou build, it must be none other than the Shackling Prison. 

“The injuries you received when protecting me,” You work through each word slowly, as if testing their validity. “They should’ve killed you. But instead… you ‘defied the natural order’ — death itself.” 

Blade doesn’t move his gaze from the four moons in the sky. 

The Xianzhou Alliance’s intolerance for those who follow the Aeon of Abundance, Yaoshi, is infamous throughout the universe. What the followers consider blessings, they reject as curses. For the Xianzhou, it’s personal. The ink the Aeon has left behind hardly has time to dry before more transgressions are added to the ledger. 

Those who live on Eris, yourself included, most commonly follow the Noct, the Aeon of The Ideal. Noct is thought to be the one who blessed this planet with the Nectary. Without it, the first generation of prisoners left to fend for themselves by the IPC would have perished. Your Aeon is in what the Genius Society calls ‘an indefinite hibernation’, not interacting with the material world yet not fully removed from it either. Some revere their Aeon enough to die for them, others despise them enough to dedicate everything to their destruction; neither side makes sense.

To you, the Aeons feel almost as distant as the stars. 

“Can it really be considered a sin if it’s beyond your control?” 

“It won’t always be,” he replies. “Until then, I can’t allow myself to forget. You must get why.” 

You wish you didn’t. 

A few moments pass. They flow into each other smoothly, lacking acidity. You resume drinking your tea. It’s lukewarm, but you don’t mind. 

“You truly aren’t afraid of me,” you remark. 

“What’s there to be afraid of?” 

The deep bass of his voice temporarily adjusts to allow bemusement. It takes you a moment to realize he isn’t mocking you, it’s more teasing than anything. The reminder does serve you well. Physically, the gap in your strength is insurmountable. He could snuff out your life before you realized your appointment with death had been expedited. 

“Most people are put off by my company in a casual setting. Being around someone who could peer into your mind, past all the pretenses we work so diligently to build… it’s frightening. Unnatural, even.” 

He focuses on the abyssal horizon. It’s as if your Aeon swaddled this planet in a pitch-black blanket with the four moons acting as a nursery mobile. You can reach up to grasp them as much as you’d like, but the cosmic entities will never be yours. It is you who belongs to them. 

“My mind has a will of its own,” Blade tells you. “It’s loud. Something about you quiets it down.” 

You blink. “Really?” 

He stares at you blankly instead of repeating himself. You take it that’s his way of communicating he has no reason to be dishonest. 

“This affliction you’re suffering from… it’s called mara, correct?” 

The instant the word leaves your lips, his demeanor shifts. It’s subtle, the tightening of his muscles and his frown deepening, yet the physical signs aren’t what tip you off. The pervasive air shrouding the beast inside his psyche is twitching. It longs to permanently rid Blade of control and loathes each rejection it’s endured. 

“I think I saw it. From what I’ve heard, I thought it’d be more self-destructive. Yours, though… how do I put it… it’s vicious, but it’s like a muzzle has been forced on it. I assume Kafka had something to do with that?” 

He doesn’t deny your conjecture. 

“Hmph, figures it’d be her handiwork. She can poke around in people’s heads, but her techniques are more effective in the short term. It lacks staying power,” you cross your arms. “I wonder why my presence deters your mara.” 

“It’s never functioned normally. I’ve long abandoned trying to make sense of it.” 

“I can’t accept that,” you huff. “You’ve saved my life twice now. There has to be something useful to be gleaned from this, even if it isn’t a complete cure.” 

The groundwork has been laid out. You were able to scrape together enough to give his psyche form, an act that’s no small feat, since he didn’t go through the typical interview process. Initiating physical contact with him was a risk, but you’ve yet to notice any consequences. 

While considering the best methods, an epiphany sinks its claws into you. 

You bite your lower lip. “I’m— um. Getting ahead of myself. After what happened, I understand if you don’t want me in your head.” 

The terms of atonement crafted by your own hands can’t be sufficient penance. 

“Multiple influences have fought for control of my mind,” he reveals. Your breath catches in your tightening throat. This isn’t a wound you’ve inflicted, it’s a wound you’ve reopened. Mara’s madness, Kafka’s adjustments; how much tampering has he been subjected to? There have been foreign elements inserted and his original self shifted around, if not removed entirely. His psyche is strung together like fraying patchwork. 

You don’t know what to do. Should you apologize again? Leave him be? Form some sort of arrangement where he doesn’t have to interact with you directly? 

These frantic thoughts halt when you examine his profile. 

Blade isn’t stewing in animosity or grief. He’s simply sitting there, living in the present. Swarming torments don’t caw and peck at him. He isn’t smiling, but his facial features express contentment, the way a laborer would after a toiling day. Flowing with the current instead of struggling against the tide. 

“Out of all of them, though,” 

The brilliant luster of his eyes takes you hostage.

“Yours… wasn’t so bad.” 

Unknown 

You’re there, aren’t you?

Unknown 

Don’t be shy and ignore my messages. 

Unlike some people, I’m busy 

Unknown 

I assure you I’m busy with various preparations too.

Unknown 

Never too busy to check in on my favorite Arbiter though. ♡

Unknown 

Did you like the roses? 

I would’ve liked them more if they weren’t from you 

Unknown

💔

Unknown

So, it’d be different if they were from someone else? Hm… I might get jealous if that’s the case.

It wouldn’t make much of a difference, anyway They’ve already wilted

Unknown

That’s a shame

Unknown

I suppose what I find beautiful doesn’t suit Eris’ climate very well

Unknown

I know you’re not going to respond anymore, so I’ll stop pestering you for now

Unknown

Take good care of yourself, little Miss Arbiter ♡

It’s become a tradition for Lear to join your and Nona’s training sessions. She’s in her highest spirits when the three of you are under the same roof, even if you’re all doing different things. Presently, Lear is replacing Loopy’s hardware with an older operating system. The latest update downloaded automatically and fixed the bug that caused your favorite robot’s premier quality. Having a robot named Loopy who no longer loops is inconceivable. 

Since the LOTUS-EATER is closed for the foreseeable future, you accepted Nona’s idea to have her training on the first floor rather than the second. According to her, The Lounge has ‘distracting’ vibes, so you hoped a change in scenery might recenter her. 

However, you’re beginning to seriously question your judgment. 

“Lear, can I please have a drink?” 

“Lear, don’t pay her any mind. She needs to be sober during her training.” 

“Sobriety is a concept invented by the prohibitionists!” 

Lear’s attention darts between you, standing imposingly with your arms crossed, then to Nona, who mimes what she must think to be a sympathetic countenance. 

“Um…” he trails off. Unable to withstand the immovable object and unstoppable force, he retreats to the motherboard he’s been working on. “I’m technically not on the clock, so I shouldn’t handle merchandise that doesn’t belong to me.” 

Nona wads up a piece of paper and throws it at him. 

It misses. 

By a lot.

“Stop pestering Lear and take your assignment seriously,” you frown. Then you realize what paper she used as ammunition. “Hold on… don’t tell me you just crumpled up and threw correspondence from Chrysus.” 

She shrugs. “That discount hound probably didn’t have anything worthwhile to say, anyway.” 

“Is Eris’ future not ‘worthwhile?’” 

“Not if we hop on a spaceship and never look back.” 

Lear sets his tools aside, unfurls the letter, then returns it to you. Nona sticks her tongue out at him and he flips her off.

… Maybe you need a drink.

“Hey, Stellaron Hunter,” Nona waves her arms wildly. “You must have a ship, right? How about it? Got room for three more? It wouldn’t even disrupt the arrangement. You can keep watch over [First] to your heart’s content.” 

The ‘Stellaron Hunter’ in question has stationed himself on a barstool, where he blatantly ignores Nona’s request. He had been standing against a far wall as you’ve learned he’s apt to do, but this made you feel bad. After some needling, he caved and sat down at your behest. It’s been a little over a week since your conversation on the balcony. Your free time since then has been sparse. An injury doesn’t make your work disappear, it just causes it to pile up higher. 

In light of what Chrysus deems a terrorist attack, you are to have a hearing with him and Caicias. Blade staunchly refused any request for you to meet them in person. For once, you agreed with the strict measures. The nectar guide has been repaired, but the mere chance that more people could be injured at another attempt on your life is unacceptable. After some bureaucratic back and forth, it was agreed upon that the risk of a cyberattack would be the lesser of two evils. 

Chrysus insisted on handwritten correspondence delivered through trustworthy sources until the hearing. The message Nona flung consisted of him tiptoeing around every serious query you’ve brought to his attention. Your most burning question concerns the residential district’s building inspections. More specifically, how the dire reports never made their way to you. 

Initially, you thought it may have fallen through the cracks. Your mother’s sudden death two years prior plunged Thelx into chaos. She wasn’t expected to retire for another fifty years. As such, you were woefully underprepared for the mantle forced onto you. She hadn’t even told you the passcode to unlock the LOTUS-EATER’s front doors. Data restoration from some old hardware she never disposed of provided enough login information for you to keep things rolling. That theory crumbled when you recalled that in 2150 AE, building permits and inspections were made to be public records. 

Upon checking, from 2150 AE to the present, everything has supposedly been up to code. 

The employee who signed off on the inspections is under an Ade company, which falls outside your jurisdiction. 

You wrote to Chrysus detailing your concerns. His response can best be summarized as him telling you that he’ll handle it. 

That did little to put your doubts to rest. 

“I’m telling you, this is impossible,” Nona grumbles. “Can you reset it?” 

“I’ve already reset it four times.” 

“Well, you know, fifth time’s the charm.” 

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve sighed throughout this training. 

“Let’s not give up so soon, okay? Which part do you feel is impossible?” 

You sit down beside her to get a better look. The blue, holographic screen fills you with nostalgia. This program was developed by a retired Arbiter to aid in their training. Essentially, it generates a ‘person’ with traits indistinguishable from their flesh and blood counterparts. Physiology, disposition, every experience they’ll go through from birth to death; it misses no detail. 

The trainees are supposed to go through the steps as if they were interacting with a client. They must establish a link by piecing together the simulated psyche, giving it an interactable form. 

Nona’s a rare case. Most Arbiters struggle with establishing and maintaining Synalinks, an area she excels at. It’s the first step that presents an issue. She has a difficult time establishing links. It’s a foundational part of the process that can’t be haphazard. 

“He’s so whiny. He’s a bigshot vocalist, traveling around the galaxy to sold-out shows, and he still complains that no one will ever ‘understand’ him or his art when even he doesn’t get it! He’s just coming up with fake deep lyrics.” 

“Did you look at the childhood fragments? For insecurity, that’s a good place to start.” 

“Oh, don’t get me started on that,” she grimaces as if she bit into something sour. “He came from old money. Opera star for a mom and a successful businessman for a dad. He wanted for nothing. But no, apparently he still needs to change his profile picture to black and the about section to ‘gone’ whenever he wants attention.” 

You pull up a critical childhood fragment. “Here you can see his father leaving a recital early to take a phone call. Then, after the performance, his mother is quick to point out the areas he needs to work on.” 

“So? He was screwing around on his phone during his singing lessons, what did he expect?” 

“Consider what happens when his tutor leaves. His face falls and he’s fighting back tears. He’s acting out to get the attention his parents don’t give him. The tutor is older and in a position of power, which makes him a perfect surrogate.” 

“That happened when he was six, though. He’s had decades to get over it.” 

“Even if that were true, it wouldn’t make a difference. A person’s experiences are real to them. Say I think there’s a hidden compartment in my bedroom due to the wall making a peculiar noise. I have lived my entire life believing this. If you saw that fragment while trying to piece my psyche together, then dispute it because you know there’s no hidden compartment, there’d be disunity. Every belief, no matter how small, connects in a complex web. Why did I make that inference? Did I read it in a book? Did my mother scare me into following curfew by saying a secret monster hiding there would get me if I stayed up too late? The mind is a fragile thing and we must treat it as such.” 

Nona puts her hands up. “Alright, alright, geez. Make sense of the events through their lens, not mine. Got it.” 

Unexpectedly, it’s Lear who speaks up next.

“What would happen if those fragments were altered?” 

You place a hand on your chin. “It’d depend on the fragment’s importance. In the example I gave, it’d cause friction in maintaining a link, but it wouldn’t fundamentally change everything I’ve ever known. As for a fragment more significant, well… I’m not sure.” 

“You aren’t?” 

“Without credible data to pull from, I’d only be speculating.” 

A frigid draft whirrs through. You shiver. 

“You’re better at this than I am, Lear. Wanna switch places?” Nona asks.

Lear stands up, his palm covering his mouth. It’s as if the vitality has been drained from his face. He transitions through multiple expressions, each more agonized than the last. Your heart twists violently against your ribcage. You want to call out to him, comfort him, but there’s no combination of words that’d douse the raging fire. 

Is it happening again? You think. No… this has to be the worst one yet! 

It’s before you again. 

A simple stage in a modest auditorium. 

There are no performers or stagehands. The lights in the theater are dim, the chairs are folded up. Pamphlets clutter the ground in disorganized heaps. Looking up, you realize they’re falling from the rafters like rain. One lands by your feet. You pick it up, squinting to make sense of the words. It’s a playbill advertising a show titled The Idiot. 

Directed by

ANIA PHAEALES

THE CAST

(In order of appearance)

The Servant…………………………………………………………………………..UNNAMED

The Fool…………………………………………………………………..…………..UNNAMED

The Coward…………………………………………………………………………...UNNAMED

On and on the list goes, ascribing every unflattering role to an unknown party. 

Mother’s name is here? Why? Was she that influential over Lear?

Spotlights flick on. Hot streams of light illuminate you in a blinding assault, which you try to block with your hands. The light’s intensity overpowers your meager attempts. A spectral crowd cheers, rousing applause and whistles emanating from empty chairs. Champagne glasses clink, men guffaw deep from their diaphragms, and women shriek like banshees. 

It gets hotter and louder, again, then once more; suffocating you in a cacophony of sensory stimuli. 

The audience makes passing comments. 

“... A shame, it couldn’t work out…” 

“Though what did they expect, truly…” 

“... Know how it is…” 

The finale rings crystal clear.

“Some people born will die never knowing love.”  

A wet, metallic-smelling substance drips from your nose. The softness of a rag replaces this feeling. It remains there, tickling your senses. There’s that floral scent again — subtle and pleasant. The flower it’s derived from may be toxic, but the strands of vermillion that curl outward like spider legs look so inviting. The petals are streams of blood frozen by time. Every time they wither, they’re forced to bloom again, perpetuating a cycle from which there’s no escape. 

You’ve seen sunsets in pictures. There are two of them glaring down at you now, circular, as if viewed through a looking glass. 

“How pretty,” your words blur together. “‘ve always to see… a sunset…” 

You never will, though. Eris is far, far away from any brilliant stars. The aloof night sky will be your lullaby and your dirge. 

Sluggishly, you sit up. You’re on one of the nice leather couches in The Club. A headache thumps in your head like a landlord who raps against the door of a tenant late with rent. You’re about to stand when an authoritative voice stops you.

“Stay still.” 

You open your mouth to protest. Blade must know your demeanor when you intend to be petulant, for he cuts you off. 

“That wasn’t a request.” 

You murmur something incomprehensible and melt back into the cushion. Regardless of your obedience, Blade stands close, as if you’re planning to bolt, trip on an uneven floor panel, then hit your head and die instantly. Glancing around, you note no one else is here. 

He follows your eyes and accurately surmises your intentions. “The quiet one ran out and the noisy one ran after him.” 

Any other time, that deadpan delivery mixed with his personal interpretation of Lear and Nona would’ve made you laugh. Presently, though, you’re fighting off a headache that outclasses every other that’s come before it. Top of the class and then some. It helps to know that Lear won’t be alone. Why exactly he experienced such an intense emotional eruption is a mystery to you. Then there’s the chaotic state of his psyche to consider; if you were disoriented from the aftershocks, the epicenter must’ve been cataclysmic. 

You’re so swept up in your thoughts, that it takes you a while to notice how Blade’s been staring at you. This in and of itself is nothing new. He’s been your shadow ever since forced this arrangement. It irritated you at first, but that blistering offense eased into acceptance. His vigilance felt befitting of a guard. Taking in your surroundings, assessing any threats; such is his prerogative. 

How he’s eyeing you now feels different. It’s as if he’s looking through you, not at you. 

“Is something wrong? You’re making such a scary expression,” you joke. 

No visual reaction. 

“I’m waiting for your explanation.” 

“About…?” 

Blade doesn’t bother hiding his displeasure. He glowers down at you, the difference in your height further exacerbated because you’re sitting down. 

The impromptu staring contest comes to an end when he speaks up, his voice carrying less hostility. 

“That idea you proposed,” he begins, moving back to return your personal space, “Are you still willing to try it?” 

He has to bring this up now of all times? You don’t want to loudly announce a deeply private matter, especially if there’s a possibility the information will make it back to Kafka. Your best shot is to downplay the severity of what you went through. He might be doing his job, but you don’t want him cordoning off Lear as a precautionary measure. You don’t blame Lear in the slightest — this punishment is appropriate for your past hubris. 

“Of course.” 

“I accept your offer.” 

Ah, you think. So this is the game he’s going to play.

“In that case… when should we get started?” 

You can guess his next sentence before it comes out. 

“I’m ready whenever you are.” 

Nona

hey hey

Nona

we’re all good here

Nona

lear’s quiet but he’s doing better. he keeps apologizing 

Nona

i thanked him for causing a scene and getting me out of class 

Nona

he kinda maybe let out a sound like a laugh

Nona

i’ll be hanging with him until things simmer down a bit more

Nona

man. i have to say though. sword guy had the most abominable vibes when it all went down

Nona

i yelled at him that if he hurt lear you would turn his mind into goop

Nona

soooo if you wouldn’t mind please tell him that was a joke and that i don’t deserve to get stabbed on sight. 

Nona

anyway. take care of yourself. call me when you feel up to it

It took three hours, a couple of painkillers, and more glasses of water than you cared to count to be ‘ready.’

You change into formal garments, consisting of an ivory gown that flows down to your feet, and a chiffon, indigo cloak that encases you from your shoulders to your knees. You fasten the heavy fabric into place with a broach your mother wore when she served as the Exalted Arbiter. It shows different stages of a moon, connected by four silver spokes. The highest point is the first quarter moon; to the right, the hollow outline of a new moon; the lowest point, the last quarter moon; then lastly, the full moon is to the left. 

Blade sits across from you in the chair designated for clients. He’s silent as you make your preparations, his eyes following you like a haunted painting. His ulterior motives are irrelevant. Inside this room, you’ve carried out your work as an Arbiter hundreds, if not thousands of times. You’ve heard the most clandestine fantasies that wouldn’t even be uttered on a deathbed. Devoid of judgment, you’ve filled your mind with the overflowing desires of their heart, careful not to lose a single drop. 

“Are you comfortable?” 

He nods. 

“Good. Let me know if you need anything.” 

An ornate tea kettle made from Eris’ dark stone sits atop the Nectary’s gemstone. It’s bronze in color and emits a warm, calming glow. Once the water inside is brought to a boil, you pour it into an opal goblet. Next, you add ambrosia leaves that have been ground into a fine powder. It sizzles upon contact with the water. Finally, you procure a vial from a pouch inside your clothes. Four drops of the Necatary’s tonic descend into the concoction. 

“I’ve seen you drink this before,” Blade notes. 

“Now you’ll get to try. Don’t worry, it isn’t poisoned.” 

It could be the low lighting and exhaustion, but you swear you see his lips curl upward. 

“Add however much you please. My only condition is that it works permanently.” 

“It’s a tempting offer. Sadly, I have to drink after you. Maybe another time.” 

After stirring the ambrosia, you hand the goblet to him. His eyes remind you of burning embers. Their radiance fascinates you. You shift in your seat, suddenly conscious of yourself. Has his gaze always held this weight? When he pulls the goblet away, you notice the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, how there’s a pretty sheen coating his lips. 

Where is this onslaught coming from? Why couldn’t it have waited until later? 

You hurriedly take a sip from the goblet. Noct’s ichor tastes sweet and spicy.

It’s tradition to repeat an incantation so as to invoke your slumbering Aeon’s blessing. You’re about to say it, when there’s a cool, smooth sensation against the corner of your lips. Every muscle in your body goes taut as if you’ve been turned to stone by some wicked spell. 

Blade’s gloved finger ghosts over your skin. 

He’s leaning over, still sitting down, close enough that you can see your reflection in his eyes. You see how high your eyebrows have raised, the ‘o’ shape of your mouth. 

“B-Blade?” Your voice comes out like a squeak. 

He says nothing. Goosebumps litter your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Your heart is a ferocious war drum. Whether it’s sounding an alarm or an invitation, you cannot tell. A beast made in your image has life breathed into it. You thought you slayed it, watched the light drain from its beady eyes, but it’s resuscitating. 

Then again, maybe you’re a fool for thinking lust can stay dead. 

He sinks back into his seat, completely impassive, acting like what he did carried no significance. 

“Some of the drink got on you,” he explains, entirely nonchalant. “I cleaned it off.” 

Being thrown into a furnace wouldn’t compare to the heat ensnaring your body. 

You cough into your hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s— thank you.” 

The awkward jumble of words flounders out before you can stop them. Your lessons in etiquette and oration have hidden themselves, somewhere beyond accessibility, scurrying to the shadows like mice when a cat approaches. If you were to make a list of your dumbest statements, this would make it far in the rankings. 

This time, you’re certain of it. That little smirk. Maybe he’s getting back at you for withholding information earlier. 

Whatever the case, you have a goal you’re determined to see through. You resume the incantation, although your voice lacks assertiveness. 

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.” 

You close your eyes…

… And when you reopen them, the Shackling Prison looms above you. 

This link is far more stable than its predecessor. There’s no ticking timer hurrying you along, you’re free to examine every nook and cranny. You notice how desaturated your surroundings are. The blades of grass closest to the prison blend in with the stone, the only hit belying their true nature being how they sway in the breeze. There isn’t any vegetation or ambiance that suits the surrounding environment. Birds don’t sing, rushing rivers are silent, and bugs refuse to perform their melodies. 

Nothing regresses or progresses; he’s wedged in a constant state of inertia. Your heart aches. 

You make your way to the impenetrable gates. After thinking about it, you hypothesized the seal you previously encountered was an emergency defense he unknowingly created. At that exact moment, Blade didn’t want you puppeteering him. He may be enigmatic, but what you know for certain is that he takes his assignments seriously. The Stellaron Hunters want you alive so he has to as well. 

That’d explain why it acted hostile to your interference. You’ve never established a link in such a high-stakes, volatile setting. You were bound to encounter oddities of some fashion. This explanation reassures you as you get closer. 

Only to ruthlessly get debunked. 

The seal is still here. It’s styled in the outline of a circle, overlapping the doors that keep you from studying Blade’s mara. Frustration floods you. This can’t be Blade’s handiwork. The one comparison is how it emanates steady energy, similar to how he is in a meditative state. The similarities stop there. 

It's grown paler, you realize. Its potency has waned since I’ve last seen it, too. 

To test this, you push against it. 

The gates creak back. 

This gap lets you steal a glance at Blade’s mara. It consists of multiple tumor-like abscesses that writhe against each other, forming a pulsating, fleshy mass. This ebullition isn’t consistent. Different sections have a will of their own. Some try consuming their adversary, others suffocate what’s beneath through their bulk alone. The horror extends down into a pit whose depth you couldn’t possibly guess. Killing, devouring, gorging, and digesting; only to experience a rebirth that will perpetuate the cycle. 

It pushes against the windows and seeps into the structure’s cracks, of which you count many. The mara’s repairing him, vigilant in its upkeep. It is a ghastly glue holding fractured pieces that long for respite together. 

Your intrusion causes it to gurgle and retract. The mara doesn’t break down or weaken, it gradually oozes down like bile in an esophagus. 

The seal repels you, cutting your grotesque investigation short. 

The last thing you see before the gates slam shut is the mara reclaiming its territory. 

…

Blade’s fully conscious while you need some time to refamiliarize yourself with your surroundings. Your head raises its thunderous complaints about how it’s being overused lately. You down a cup of water, careful not to get any on your lips, so your earlier weakness isn’t repeated. 

“Alright. Let me get my thoughts together,” You take a deep breath, then continue, “I only caught a glimpse of your mara. It did retreat after noticing my presence, although I’m not sure why.

Blade doesn’t say anything. You’re beginning to get used to that. 

“And another thing. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, since everything about our previous link was messy… but this time and the last, there’s this seal preventing me from going deeper. Do you have any idea what that’s about?” 

“You’re the expert here.” 

That must mean he doesn’t. 

“Hah. I’m starting to wonder about that.” 

You don’t mean to sound so defeated. You have some years under your belt — 120, to be exact — but you’ve realized how many areas you’re lacking in. Nymphalians live anywhere from 500 to 700 years. Your mother was 200 when she’d been anointed as Eris’ new Exalted Arbiter. She tried stamping out the quiet pride your prodigious abilities instilled in you. All it did was form a gaping chasm neither of you ever tried to mend. 

You have the materials now, but it’s too late. There’d be no one waiting on the other side once you crossed.

Blade leans forward, presses his elbows to his knees, and rests his chin on his fists. 

“Would it help if you touched me?” 

You shoot up straight from your chair like it just stabbed you. Heat infuses into your cheeks, then spreads throughout, momentarily stupefying you. His monotonous words loop in your head. How can he sit there so collected after making an insinuation like that?! Especially when you’re not at your top performance. 

“That’s highly inna—” 

“You avoid skin-to-skin contact,” he interrupts, his visage unreadable. “The one time you didn’t, you made it far.” 

It’s a mistake to underestimate his perspicacity just because he doesn’t actively flaunt it. 

“What did you think I meant?” 

Why can’t his voice have a little more intonation? If he’s being playful, his delivery is too dry for you to tell. 

“Nothing, nothing at all,” you sit back down and cross your legs in an attempt to look professional. “What you’re referring to is a precaution my mother suggested. In the past, strange reactions have occurred after I came into direct contact with someone. Not always, though. No one could determine the how or why.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Honestly… you Stellaron Hunters should’ve just waterboarded me, you would’ve gotten this information faster, if that’s the objective here.” 

“Lie if you want.” 

“I don’t want to lie to you,” you admit. He knits his eyebrows together, an act that accentuates the dark lines beneath his eyes. “You deserve to understand what I did. If I hadn’t resorted to that, it’d be different.” 

“Hm.” 

No one can ever claim Blade doesn’t have a way with words. 

Suppressing a yawn, you refocus the conversation. “I think we made some good progress here. I’m willing to keep at it if you are.” 

“No. That’s enough for now,” he says. “Go rest.” 

“Eh? I can keep going, though.” 

“I know. Rest anyway.” 

Your body is letting you know that it’s finished, your exhaustion has crossed the semi-tolerable threshold to unbearable. There’s a hearing to prepare for, Nona and Lear to reach out to, and about another million odds and ends. This flurry of activity won’t get done any faster if you’re crawling around like a host controlled by a parasite. 

“... Fine, have it your way. Lear’s always getting on me about my sleeping habits too.” 

You sense an irregular fluctuation from him. However, there’s no shift in his body language, so you decide it isn’t your place to pry. 

“Blade?” 

He turns his head toward you. 

“This ability of mine, it’s only ever provided entertainment for others, which is fine, of course… but… the chance to help someone directly… is a first,” you give him a bashful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. I mean it.” 

For a brief moment, his gaze doesn’t feel so intense.

Nona

hey hey 

Nona

please tell me the sword guy didn’t confiscate your phone. if that’s the case it’s so over

Nona

i’m not going up against him to get it back

It’s me texting from [First]’s phone. I remember what you said about the brain goop. Lock your windows and sleep with one eye open.

Nona

!!!

Nona 

gg

Nona

oh btw. the dust has settled

Nona

it’s weird… this doesn’t happen for years, then suddenly, twice in such close succession? 

Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too I don’t get it

Nona

welcome back from being held hostage btw

Wow thank you

Let me know if you both need anything I actually have no idea how I haven’t passed out yet

Nona

it’s because you haven’t given mushroom mania a chance. their music is so chill

Nona is typing…

Please don’t spam the link to their album again

Nona

alright fine whatever

Nona

i am bored though if you want to play connect four hmu

Nona has invited you to play Connect Four™©®.

Nona

[first]? come back my queen

Nona

wow you fell asleep fast </3

Nona

rest up. you deserve it

There are two monitors in front of you.

To the left is a man with a graceful physiognomy — Chrysus Ophídion. He has hair white as snow, pulled back into a long ponytail that stops at his lower back. His eyes are sharp, cunning, hidden behind thin glasses that reflect his monitor’s shine. He’s already asked you the questions courtesy demands, such as your health and how the LOTUS-EATER is faring during the IPC travel ban. 

“It’s nothing but a power play,” he had reassured you. “I’ve had productive negotiations with their chief financial officer, he’s insinuated that a proposal to remedy the dispute isn’t far off.” 

While you’d often be remiss to take Chrysus at his word, there is one sacred objective he’ll never work against — money. 

He isn’t exactly subtle. His office’s backdrop is a hulking conglomerate; a screen that shows everything from graphs of Eris’ most prominent businesses to stocks throughout the universe updating in real-time. There must be around a hundred different squares dedicated to this flashing panoply. Before Chrysus’ repurposing, it was a wide window from which one could view Eris’ mountain range to the northeast. Your mother detested the change and the room itself. 

Then to the right, there’s Caicias Rex. He’s a burly, bearded man, with dark hair going silver from age. Rumors have been circulating that he’ll announce his retirement on his 500th birthday. Between the two, you prefer dealing with him. Caicias isn’t verbose or prickly. If anything, he’s a little too brazen. 

“How are you holding up, little Miss Arbiter?” 

Caicias’ gravelly voice is at a deafening volume, made worse by the fact you’re using in-ears. His microphone peaks at its own leisure. 

“Caicias, please, your microphone,” Chrysus grits out whilst wincing, “Did you not have your assistant set it up beforehand as I suggested?” 

You both take out your in-ears before he responds. It’s loud enough that you can hear what he’s saying even while holding them far away. 

“Oh, the dial’s screwed up. Alright. There. Any better?” 

You put your in-ears back on. “I believe so.” 

“Great! Let me repeat myself then. Are you feeling any better? Ready to do all that mind magic stuff?” 

“I’m doing much better, thank you. If you’re referring to my capacity to establish links, I haven’t encountered any issues so far.” 

Caicias takes a moment to respond. “That way of speaking, your posture… you’re the spitting image of Ania.” 

The call falls silent. While you’re thinking of something to say, Chrysus takes the initiative himself. 

“May Noct grant her blissful rest,” he repeats the platitude you heard spoken aplenty at your mother’s funeral. “I apologize for changing the topic so abruptly, but there’s a sensitive matter at hand to discuss. I ask that you both listen until I’m finished without any interjections.” 

Sensitive? What could he possibly mean by that? 

You feel a churning in your soul. 

“Thank you. As you’re both well aware, the position of Ade’s Exalted Regent isn’t limited to operating as Eris’ primary treasurer. Caicias and the belated Ania Phaeales agreed to my proposal to form a coalition that’d combat Eris’ uptick in crime decades prior. The coalition has seen great success. 

With Miss Phaeales injured and Mister Rex preoccupied with investigating hazardous mining conditions in the Nectary, I was appointed head of the Thelx nectar guide bombing investigation. My team and I have spared no resources in uncovering the culprits behind such a senseless act of violence. 

Initially, we turned our attention toward the IPC. At this point, we’ve found nothing to implicate them. On the contrary, evidence from the preliminary investigation suggests the involvement of Arc citizens. I am well aware of the prejudice certain people have against those who come from Arc, so I wanted to be absolutely certain. You’ll both receive digital copies of the documented evidence, but for the purpose of this hearing, I’ll focus on the most relevant evidence. 

Through data restoration and witness accounts, two main suspects have been identified. Felix Laurence, a nectar guide engineer who was granted Thelx citizenship by Ania Phaeales, and his nephew, Ryker Laurence, unemployed. A standard employee-issued passcode assigned to Felix accessed the NGT, or Nectar Guide Terminal, three cycles prior to the incident. Logs show he spent considerable time eyeing the schedule of the cycle when Miss Phaeales was to depart.

Felix’s co-workers have corroborated that he offered to take their shifts, as the trip was scheduled on a cycle he doesn’t work. His offer was accepted by the second person he asked. Audio logs recorded in the common area corroborate this. Surveillance places Felix’s arrival at 0100 hours, where he claimed that an emergency malfunction notice was sent to his pager. The NGT confirms no such notice was issued. 

The fragments recovered from the explosive device show it to be the kind that activates on contact, which simplifies the installation process. Felix is seen returning at 0112. Co-workers report he seemed ‘unlike himself’ and was drenched in sweat. Miss Phaeales’ cabin departed at 0200, the tragedy occurred at 0223. A reconstruction of the device reveals a minor malfunction that delayed the device’s detonation, a blessing from Noct, I’m sure. 

The Laurence residence was promptly raided, where materials matching those inside the explosive crime were located. Testimonies from those who know Ryker attest to his hobby of making strange contraptions that never work as intended. I have personnel ready to detain Felix and his co-conspirator Ryker at a moment’s notice, in compliance with Eris’ No Involuntary Confinement Act, where they’ll be extradited to Arc unless they make an appeal.” 

The pictures of the two suspects take up Chrysus’ screen. Caicias strokes his beard while viewing them, whereas you remain motionless. You remember the name Felix Laurence. You attended the event where his special citizenship was awarded, some twenty years ago. What could have driven him to this? Where did you fall short? If it was your mother in charge, would things have gone differently? Chrysus, Caicias, Kafka… none of them take you seriously. They consider you a child playing make pretend. 

Is that not what you are? 

Mother would’ve held her own if Kafka tried coercing her. 

She would’ve found out about the building inspection dilemma through her own channels. 

Blade’s seal, his mara — she would’ve helped him better than you ever could. 

But she can’t. She’s gone and you’ll never be her. 

“I understand it’s a lot to take in,” Chrysus states. It doesn’t sound like he means it. “In truth, the account I gave is highly summarized. I felt I owed it to Miss Phaeales before I arrived at my next point.” 

“... What do you mean by that?” You ask. 

“It became clear to me that an investigation like this couldn’t be limited in scope. For instance, how did Felix know Miss Phaeales was due to use the nectary guide at that specific cycle and that specific time? As I said earlier, he accessed the NGT, but your name isn’t visible there. Only the Director of Operations knows when you’re set to travel. All Felix would’ve been able to see is that a private cabin was scheduled to leave at 0200, which isn’t a rare occurrence.” 

“Please place aside certain biases to the best of your ability,” he says. “Ryker’s correspondence these past two years showed some red flags. Specifically, he had frequent correspondence with an unknown person whose IP was traced back to the LOTUS-EATER. These conversations were largely written in code, but from what we’ve decrypted, this unknown person has been leaking information about you and Ania Phaeales. Based on available information, it’s highly likely that this unknown person is who you refer to as ‘Nona.’”

Caicias closes his eyes and exhales. 

“That… that’s absurd,” your voice is weaker than a breeze. “There’s no way I’ll accept a baseless accusation like this.” 

“Allow me to once again request that you place aside your bias. Nona, whose birth name is unknown, was born and raised in Arc’s most hostile faction. At the self-reported age of 74, she submitted a request for Thelx citizenship. Your mother, in her benevolence, granted the request due to seeing Nona’s potential as a future Arbiter. Do you deny any of this?” 

You think you might be sick. 

“... No,” you grit out. 

“Why would she suddenly abandon an extremist group and request citizenship in Thelx, a quadrant they’re especially hateful towards? Or, did this faction see an opportunity in Nona, who was widely known to have a talent close to yours in establishing Synalinks?”

“Little Nona is what, 113 now? That’s a long time to be acting as a double agent,” Caicias points out. 

“Can indoctrination like that ever be fully deprogrammed?” Chrysus challenges. 

Your horror gives way to an icy rage. 

“If you’re determined to pursue this ‘lead’, so be it, I guarantee my staff and I will fully cooperate. That doesn’t mean you can implicate one of my Arbiters for such a serious offense with nothing but circumstantial evidence.” 

Chrysus sighs. “I’m sorry you see it that way. You’re right that there’s no direct evidence yet — I bring this up to err on the side of caution. It’d deal a severe blow to Eris if anything happened to the Phaeales bloodline. Is it at least fair to say that out of everyone at the LOTUS-EATER, Nona would be one of the most familiar with your itinerary? Did you tell her about your trip to Perianth II?” 

You draw your lips in a thin line. You had told her. 

“Alright, Chrysus, this isn’t an interrogation. This is Ania’s daughter you’re talking to,” Caicias frowns. 

Ania’s daughter, huh?

“... You’re right. I just wish to ensure Miss Phaeales’ safety. I got ahead of myself.” 

“There are better approaches. Let’s call it for now. We won’t get anywhere bickering like this,” Caicias says. He steeples his fingers and looks directly into the camera. “Have your men keep watch on those two. We’ll meet back again in a cycle; that should give us enough time to flip through all these documents you’re sending.” 

This suggestion is for your sake and you all know it. Caicias has good intentions, but you’ll never earn the respect necessary for a leader if you back down now. You imagine you’re preparing to establish a link. The steps it entails, how your mind must surrender its solid form. 

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.” 

“It’s alright, Mister Rex. I can keep going,” you reassure with a smile. Your cadence has lost its vibrato and transitions into a steady timbre. Every dissonant note is scratched out to recite the sheet music lying before you. If you’re to get through this, it’ll be the performance of a lifetime. 

“Hm… are you sure?” Caicias asks. He squints, trying to get a better read on you through the screen. 

You consider a conductor’s baton, how it glides through the air, commanding absolute obedience from its orchestra. Your heart, your lungs, the feeling of static buzzing in your head; you demand a decrescendo. 

You might not be your mother, but you can play in the same key. 

“I am. Mister Ophídion, would you please go over everything from the beginning without paraphrasing? There’s a great deal to examine.” 

You’re occupying a space between reality and fantasy. 

Cogency of any kind flees from you. Chasing after it has become tiring, a prospect that instills dread. There’s no affliction worse than uncertainty. You envy fortunate fools who can cling to a belief from their first breath to their last, what a blessing it must be to never reside in doubt’s shadow. 

You don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. 

Chrysus had an explanation for everything. The file he’s built up on Nona? That’s standard procedure, anyone in such close quarters with you must be vetted. The employee who signed off on an unsafe building? A full investigation will be conducted, you need only be patient. Why hadn't he contacted you sooner about any of this? He didn’t want to risk any leaks that’d tip off the enemy before he was prepared. 

You don’t know what was worse. Being treated like an idiot by Chrysus or a sniveling child by Caicias.

Ripping your mother’s broach off, you walk over to the balcony’s edge and raise your arm. 

The inky night spreads out like paint spilled across a canvas. This is the only view you’ve had throughout the years — a cold void that never wanted to host life. The nameless planet must’ve counted itself fortunate to have been passed up by settlers. No one will ever want to settle here, it had thought. I will make my surface so terrible that those who come here will certainly die. 

You lower your arm. The broach is set on a table you subsequently push out of sight.

In a way, this balcony is your cell. You’ve sat here and contemplated freedom as any inmate would. What would it be like to feel the sun? Does it burn, does it sting? Is it true that you shouldn’t stand in it for long? What about the sunrise? How lovely it must be for such a sight to be there every morning, greeting you with its gentle colors and soft edges.

You hug your legs to your chest and rest your head on your knees. 

The door behind you opens without warning. 

You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can pick up on his taciturn presence without trying. It’s inevitable, so long as you’ve been exposed to a person enough.

Blade’s footsteps make no sound, he’s almost like a levitating wraith. You assume he’ll take his place on the leftmost chair. It's become an unspoken ritual. Those who have experienced the sun are ever so enchanted by the moon, he’s no different. Rather than sitting down, however, he lingers behind you. You can feel him staring. After a few seconds, he comes closer, so that he’s beside you.

Wordlessly, he holds out a teacup you’ve never seen. It’s porcelain with a glossy finish, boasting intricate blue designs painted along the sides. The inside contains a bloody ocean that glistens beneath the moonlight. The aroma clues you in — it’s ambrosia, just without the Nectary’s tonic. 

“Is this for me?” You whisper, incredulous.

His flat expression seems to communicate, ‘Who do you think it’s for?’ 

You cradle it in both your hands. Warmth seeps through and becomes acquainted with your skin. Likewise, the steam wafts up, tickling your nose. It’s as if the drink is a pocket watch and you’ve been hypnotized. 

Once it’s secure in your grasp, he pulls back. 

Then he starts to walk away. 

He’s leaving? Why is he leaving? 

Your body springs up of its own accord. You balance the teacup in one hand and reach out to him with the other, your fingers fanning out, ready to sink into whatever they can. Everything happens in the blink of an eye. Your free hand succeeds in finding a destination — settling on the abrasive finish of his bandages. 

You feel another texture alongside it. 

It’s smooth, cold, and visible through the interstices of his winding bandages. 

His skin. 

Realizing this, you withdraw your hand in panic. Then you wait, bracing yourself for a brutal rebound. What horrors could a mind like his prepare for you? Would it cross the threshold of mental anguish to physical harm? You squeeze your eyes shut. 

When you find the courage to reopen them, there’s nothing abominable waiting with bated breath to drag you through a mental purgatory. 

Instead of a consequence, there’s only Blade, fixed in place. He hasn’t moved an inch. 

You’re okay. Nothing’s wrong.

You let out a relieved sigh. 

“Let me at least get the words thank you out,” you insist, desperate to refocus his attention. “I… thank you. You don’t have to be… in such a rush…?” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Much to your chagrin, Blade takes your teacup by the rim and lifts it. You tilt your head. Did he… did he just repossess your drink? That’s a low blow.

“You were about to drop it,” Blade deadpans. “Quit pouting.” 

“Wh—?! I’m not pouting!” 

He raises an eyebrow. 

To think you went through all that anxiety for this. 

“You Stellaron Hunters are the worst,” you grumble. 

“Hm.” 

Fed up beyond measure, you spin on your heel and start walking back to your chair. You deserve an uninterrupted night of listening to depressing music while thinking depressing thoughts. It’s your right, having endured so much lately.

“[First].” 

A chain reaction goes off in your chest. You’ve made it one measly step away and a blackhole threatens to reel you back. His voice, that deep, resonant tone, stirs something inside you, beckons it out to play. He spoke your name. Has he ever done so before? You don’t know. If someone were to ask you the most basic question right now, you’d be physically incapable of responding. 

He doesn’t have to ask you to come back. You do so willingly. 

Blade brings the teacup back down to your height. Confusingly, he doesn’t return it to your hands, nor does he give any indication that he plans on doing so. He’s holding it level to your face. You want to ask what it is he wants from you. It’s best to have everything out in the open, so that no misconceptions arise, and yet, that rational thinking presents itself as a nuisance. You don’t want anything to ruin this moment. The ambiguity entices you and holds your soul captive while the key is within reach. 

Tentatively, you press your lips to the teacup’s edge. 

The emotions teeming inside of him are palpable. They curl around you, these tendrils of unadulterated carnality squirm against your flesh. It isn’t a fair comparison to say you’re playing with fire. No, you’re laying down at an altar as a voluntary sacrifice. 

He inclines the teacup toward you.

It’s a harmonic union between saccharine and spice, a robust flavor that leaves your tongue tingling. He rebalances the cup while you swallow your first sip. Pulling back, you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“It’s delicious,” you compliment. In a coquettish act, you wet your lips as if you’d made a mess. 

His eyes glow like molten magma. 

Slowly, you stand on your tiptoes, both your arms coiling around his neck. You pull him closer and he lets you. Your lips almost connect, only for you to move back at the last second. He tries remedying this by leaning down further. You prove stubborn by dodging him once more. His nostrils flare and he lets out a sound akin to a growl. 

“Aw,” you coo, a condescending lilt present. You twist your head to the side and jut out your lower lip. “Who’s pouting now?” 

He descends on you like a rabid dog. 

His lips are relentless, demanding more and more, driven by a fervor that belies his seemingly apathetic disposition. It isn’t sensual so much as it is voracious. You’re taken aback yet find it titillating all the same. His bandaged hand flies to your nape, then drops lower, following the ridges of your spine. Subconsciously, you arch your back. He shudders at the softness of your chest pressing against him. His hand eventually settles on the back of your thigh, squeezing and grabbing the flesh with blatant greed. Without warning, he hikes your leg up, an act that causes you to temporarily lose your balance. 

Blade’s chest rumbles in a low chuckle. The husky sound sends heat straight to your core, you may have left out a debauched noise if your lips hadn’t been preoccupied. 

Regardless, you won’t let him off that easily. Who knows what he’ll start to pull if you’re lenient. You pull away and glare at him for the infraction. Considering your messy hair, heaving chest, and swollen lips, you doubt you’re very frightening to one of the universe’s most notorious criminals. The mirth dancing in his eyes confirms this. 

“Still you,” he muses. 

You release an audible yelp as he effortlessly picks you up. Manhandling you must be a newfound delight of his, his satisfaction is readily apparent. You doubt he’d drop you, but your instincts aren’t allowing the risk — you cling yourself to him for extra security. It occurs to you that both his hands are in use. Recalling the teacup, you glance around, curious about its whereabouts. You find it sitting beside your broach, perfectly intact. Wasn’t he holding it seconds ago? 

“How did you do that?” 

He grabs your chin and turns your head back to face him. 

“Strange, clumsy, and distractible,” he mutters, though not without a certain fondness. “Keep your eyes on me, girl.” 

“It’s a legitimate question! Also, hold on,” you jab your fingers at his chest in accusation, “I’m most certainly older than you. Are you familiar with the adage, ‘respect your elders?’”

“Are you?” 

“Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it— ohhh.”

He’s gracious enough to wait as you piece everything together. Xianzhou attire, an ability that could reasonably be classified as immortality… 

“On second thought, ideas like that are outdated. They perpetuate a cycle of complacency. Respect is earned, not given.” 

“At the end of the day, past that haughty exterior…” Blade trails off, his lips nearing your outer earlobe. You swallow while he keeps you in suspense. The pointed tips of his canine teeth drag against the sensitive flesh, sometimes sinking down, only to let up before he leaves behind so much as an indent. 

He plays this game for as long as it pleases him and not a moment longer. 

Finally, he bites down, almost eliciting a whimper. It takes considerable self-control to hold it in. 

“You’re something of a brat, aren’t you?” 

He accentuates this remark by grabbing the tips of your hair and tugging them to the side. Not enough to hurt, but enough to give him a canvas to work with. His teeth trail down from your ear to your neck, settling on your racing pulse point. He nibbles at the area just enough to leave behind marks. Meanwhile, your breathing picks up to an erratic pace. You lull your head to the side so that he has unrestricted access. He rewards your obedience with a kiss, soothing the tender area he’s been working on. 

Amazing as that feels, you swear you’ll go crazy if you don’t receive more stimulation. Whether or not he’s aware of this, you can’t say for sure, but you do know that he’s taking his sweet time sucking and nibbling the second place you want him most. In this position, there’s little you can do to encourage more friction. It’s too awkward an angle to grind against him, not to mention how damaging that’d be to your ego.

You tighten your grip around his broad shoulders in what you hope to be an obvious tell. When that doesn’t get you anywhere, an agitated noise slips by before you can stop it. 

Finally, he pulls back from his assault on your neck. “What?” 

How has his voice deepened in pitch?! 

“Just— don’t you want to, you know, inside?” 

“I don’t know. You’ll have to be clearer.” 

This bastard is deliberately toying with you. Huffing, you move back, unsurprised by the sight of supposed neutrality. He might be able to keep his facial expressions in check, but his eyes give him away. There’s no mistaking it. Those are the eyes of a starving beast. The intensity makes you shiver. Whether it’s from primordial fear or lust, there’s no telling. It’s most likely a warped combination of the two. 

This is a feeling you could get addicted to. 

Your dominant hand rises to cup his cheek. Exhaling a shaky breath, you allow the taut muscles in your face to relax. Your leering gives way to something softer. You familiarize yourself with him, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbones, then lightly kissing the same cheek. His palms dig into you tighter. Acting as if you have all the time in the world, you pepper his face with featherlight kisses, loosely following a line that ends near his mouth. Finally, having arrived at your spell’s conclusion, you place a chaste kiss on his lips. 

You bat your eyelashes in a show of faux coyness. 

“Please?” 

He audibly swallows. 

Testing your limits, you throw in a sly comment. “Don’t you have a soft spot for me?” 

Blade scoffs. He doesn’t say anything for or against your claim, but you do notice how the tips of his ears turn red. 

“If I’d known this was the best way to deal with you Stellaron Hunters, I would’ve considered doing this with Kafka.”

Blade’s eyes narrow into slits that, realistically, should unsettle you. It does to an extent. Especially considering the maelstrom of heightened emotions swirling around him, and, by extension, you. He’s glowering, sizing you and your intentions up. He lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head while doing so. 

“What a mouth,” he remarks. 

Unbothered by the vitriol, you shrug. “You’re the one who told me to speak ‘normally.’” 

“My mistake.” 

You don’t get to respond — his lips are on yours again. He steps back, somehow mindful enough to input the door’s passcode while never breaking away from you. His tongue doesn’t ask for entry, it demands it. You’re happy to comply. He takes pleasure in ravishing your mouth, tasting the lingering flavors from the gift that brought you to this. 

You’re back on a solid surface after he pushes some writing implements to the side. You decide that this will be the one time you allow someone to make a mess of your desk. He urges your legs open with his knee, a request you’re quick to fulfill. 

His lung capacity must be otherworldly, you have to give his shoulders a push for him to get the hint. A throaty noise leaves him, expressing his disgruntlement at the prospect of parting. Still, he grants you respite. A thin trail of saliva sees to it that your contact isn’t completely severed. 

Blade doesn’t let you recuperate for long. He presses his hard length against your core, creating heavenly friction. You no longer have the means to muffle your noises, which must’ve been his intent. His hands find your hips in a frenzy. He grabs the flesh, pulls you closer, and grinds against your clothed cunt. 

It doesn’t take long for you to teeter close to the edge. The guttural noises near your ear, the steady stimulation, his scent, and shameless thirst for you; everything envelops your head in an intoxicating haze. Your problems that stack high into the sky seem so far away. The stress evaporates away, the tension you’ve held in your body dissipating alongside it. He’s doing most of the work for you. 

Your peak gets closer, you’re right on the precipice—

—And he stops. 

You can’t say you didn’t see it coming. Blade has a penchant for riling you up, delighting in the vivid reactions he gets. 

This cruelty earns him a whine. 

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re impatient,” is his rebuttal. 

“I am,” you agree. You learn that your equilibrium is askew when you get up. After steadying your wobbly legs, you grab his wrist and tug. Your sulking must be more tantalizing than any destination you could take him to. It isn’t until the fifth pull that he relents and follows along. You pull up the lock specifications for your bedroom, inputting that an unregistered person has permission to enter. Your fingers lack the dexterity to complete this adjustment on the first try. 

And the second. 

And the third. 

“Say anything and I’ll… I’ll…” 

“You’ll…?” he encourages.

“I’ll practice celibacy,” is your final threat. 

“Mhm.” 

Your bedroom door opens on the fourth try.

After fiddling with your do not disturb settling, you point to the edge of your bed. 

“Sit there.” 

He takes off his shoes first then listens to your request. You unfasten your outer cloak. The long fabric falls into your grasp and is put aside. You’re left in nothing but your loungewear, a simple button-up shirt and leggings. Turning around, you anticipate an annoying expression to be sprawled over his face. You even have an insult on standby. 

These thoughts crumble into dust. 

Blade’s gripping your comforter hard enough for his knuckles to turn bone white. He’s leaning forward, as if ready to pounce, yet lucid enough to exercise some semblance of self-control. He reminds you of a starved animal trapped in a cage, salivating over a piece of meat hanging outside the bars. Goosebumps cover your body. This isn’t simple lust… it’s visceral, some primitive desire too overwhelming to be understood. 

You’re the one he’s staring at with this unbridled yearning. 

Yes, he’s teased you. Pushed your buttons and riled you up. Not so subtly flaunted the strength that lets him maneuver you like you weigh nothing. You might have status and mastery in your given field, but he’s participated in the annihilation of worlds; the end of civilizations that span back since time immemorial. 

He should be the one in charge. 

Yet as you stand here, witnessing how he tortures himself by not pouncing on you like he easily could, a thought is planted. 

He’d really do anything you asked if it kept this from ending. 

The adrenaline rush this realization brings is enough to turn any cognition you still possess off. 

Your trembling hands hover above your topmost button. Your mattress dips as he slants forward, his fraying patience almost snapping. You hear the leather of his gloved hand creak from how hard he’s clenching it. You shake your head to deter him. The room’s atmosphere has a headiness to it that renders you breathless. Had you seen this expression without context, you’d think he was in physical agony. 

A button is undone for every step you take toward him.

The thin shirt flutters off your shoulders when your knees hit the bed’s edge. 

Blade gazes at your body as if he’d find salvation in it. 

Since you were planning to relax, you’d discarded your bra earlier. The exposure to the cool air causes your nipples to harden. He can’t settle for ogling any one part of your bare torso, his eyes flitter from your collarbones to your chest, your navel, then back up again. You start bending over. His eyes widen slightly. It takes you a second to find where his mind has wandered off since you were just going to remove your leggings. 

“What? Was there something you wanted from me?” You hum. 

If looks could kill, you’d be a goner. 

You decide he’s suffered enough. Your leggings are thrown aside, you’re past the point of caring to be tidy. You both exhale shakily as you sit your clothed cunt directly over his prominent bulge. Your arousal seeps through your panties and onto his pants; there’ll be no pretending that you aren’t as excited as he is. 

“Are you finished?” 

His low, grumpy voice has no business sounding as good as it does. 

You play with his high collar and pretend to ponder. “Hm… I guess.” 

No sooner than the words leave your mouth do you get flipped over.

Blade’s large hands fondle your chest, memorizing how soft and pliable the flesh is for him. He’s quick to remove one so that he can attach his lips to your pert nipple. He sucks the tender area, releasing sounds that’d have you thinking he was the one being pleasured. Meanwhile, his free palm flattens against your stomach. 

You’re lost in a myriad of sensations. His hot, wet mouth sucking your nipple, the cold smoothness of his gloved hand fondling what isn’t in his mouth, the coarse texture of his bandages sliding along your skin. He’s obsessed with your body and it shows. Whether he’s worshiping or desecrating it remains to be seen. 

“Blade, please,” you roll your hips against his so he can get the message. 

He delivers his punishment swiftly — he tweaks one nipple and nibbles the other. 

Unexpectedly, this extracts a mewl from you. 

Blade pulls back. A self-satisfied grin spreads over his face. 

“Poor needy thing,” he chuckles. Your glare doesn’t last long, for he brushes his fingertips over your clothed clit. He draws featherlight circles. “Soaked too. What? Was there something you wanted from me?” 

His reciting of your previous taunt antagonizes your pride. Rather than responding verbally, you try grinding against his stupidly stationary fingers. He holds your hips down to prevent you from misbehaving further. Having not learned your lesson, you try again. He barely needs to exert any more strength for your body to be pinned to the bed as if you were a butterfly on a collector’s wall. 

He clicks his tongue. “Have you forgotten how to speak?” 

“M-Maybe.” 

“Hm. A shame,” he says. He shifts back and parts your legs. You close your eyes as he nudges his nose against your inner thigh, his warm breath fanning over your skin. He leaves a trail of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as he leisurely makes his way to your cunt. 

“I’ll have to pry other sounds from you instead.” 

He kisses your covered core, once, then twice, a growl leaving him when your hips desperately raise for more friction. Much to your disappointment, he revisits your inner thigh, this time nipping at it. He subjects the soft flesh to the conquest of his teeth. You prop yourself up on your elbows, intending to remove the last piece of clothing that separates you from him. He pushes you back down and mutters something incomprehensible. 

The sound of fabric tearing reverberates throughout your room. 

You’re not left wondering what he’s done for long. Blade pulls you against him by your hips, attaches his lips to your clit, and sucks.  

He’s relentless, almost as if he’s chasing his release instead of yours. His tongue licks from the bottom to the top. He feasts on you, his face pressing as close as he can get. The rapidly mounting pleasure leaves you incapable of forming coherent words or thoughts. All you can think about is Blade, how he’s grinding himself against your bed, fucking you with his tongue. 

Should you be doing this? Are you using him? Is he using you? These pesky little concerns fade into the foreground. 

He slurps your clit like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Your previous sensitivity has your release imminent. You thread your hands into his hair and throw your head back. Tugging on the long locks in encouragement has him groaning against you, sending vibrations straight to your core. 

Your release builds and builds. The muscles in your thighs tense, your voice elevates in pitch, pleasure diluting your senses. 

“Gonna— mm—” 

You come on his ruthless tongue and ride out your high, ecstasy rushing throughout your body. 

Once you come back down to reality, you realize he hasn’t stopped. Your nerves are sensitive enough to almost hurt. You keen as he messily kisses your cunt. You can’t move your legs and your arms feel like jello. With some difficulty, you urge his head away. Your slick glistens along his parted lips. He greedily licks up the remnants since you’ve deprived him of the source. 

Blade takes off his overcoat. He then removes his golden shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing both garments aside. Next, he undoes the buckle that hangs across his hips. His silver pants join the heap of his clothes not long after. You drink in the sight of his toned figure. You’ve always thought him to be handsome. His sharp jawline, long, silky hair, and those blazing eyes. You never thought you’d get to see what’s beneath his clothes. Scars litter the expanse of his otherwise pale skin, their shape perplexing you. He catches you staring and gives you a look you can’t place.  

“Is it more unsightly than my mind?” 

You push yourself up, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him close.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur against his lips. “All I see is a handsome man who I want to fuck me senseless.” 

“Hm. There’s that mouth again.” 

He kisses your forehead while bringing you back down to the bed. Once your head is on the pillow, he lines himself up at your entrance. Abundant pre-cum leaks from his tip, which he smears against you, stimulating your clit in the process. You gnaw on your lower lip to stop a moan from sneaking out. He just barely pushes the head in. As it’s been a while, you hold your breath in anticipation for the stretch to come. However, he doesn’t go any further. He's just staring at you, his eyes like that of a madman. The intensity has you averting your gaze. 

Your cheek barely grazes the pillow before he speaks up, his tone chastising. “[First].” 

You feel your walls clench around nothing. 

Sheepishly, you turn your head back to face him. 

“That’s all it takes, huh?” 

You guess it did work for him twice. It isn’t your fault. Hearing someone call you by your birth name is rare. To everyone else, you’re a title or notable last name. You aren’t an individual. The characteristics that define you remain purposefully hidden from sight. You’ll just be another line on a long list, perhaps a topic for disinterested schoolchildren to write a report on. 

“Yeah,” you admit as he gradually sinks into you, “That’s all it takes.” 

He’s thick enough to make you wince, regardless of how slow he goes. Your walls struggle to accommodate his size. He stills until you recollect yourself, taking deep breaths to relax your tense body. The dull ache fades. You nod at him to continue. He pushes his cock deeper, exhaling shakily by your ear as inch after inch slips in. It’s hot and heavy inside you, occasionally twitching. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, eliciting a choked sound from him. Though you’re panting, you still have enough audacity to let your self-satisfaction show. He doesn’t chastise you or revert to teasing. No, he laughs, low and from the diaphragm. The room is almost unbearably hot and still you shudder. 

Blade slides out of you and thrusts back in. The pace isn’t too fast, but he insists on pulling all the way out and filling you to completion again. His pelvis smacks against yours as he fully stretches you. This time, he lets you throw your head back, his teeth sinking into the bruises he left earlier. You hear your headboard hit the wall from how forcefully he fucks you. It’s raw and brutal, but you love it. For once, you don’t have to think or do a thing. All he wants to do is ravish you and you’ll gladly let him. 

Your eyes shoot open when his gloved hand finds its way to your sensitive clit. He rubs sloppy circles against it, causing your walls to clench around his cock. He groans into your neck. This unrestrained expression of the pleasure you’re providing him is almost too much. You never would’ve imagined he’d be so vocal, panting hot by your ear, holding absolutely nothing back. You could spend an eternity listening to him. 

A second orgasm creeps up on you. Your moans and delighted gasps grow loud enough to let him know. He squishes your cheeks in the coolness of his gloved hand, demanding that your attention wander nowhere else. 

“Open your eyes.” 

What he’s asking of you feels personal, almost too intimate. You hesitate for a moment but ultimately give him what he wants. He rewards you by revisiting your throbbing clit, rubbing and rubbing until there are spots in your vision. You chant his name, sometimes getting through the entire word, or barely stumbling through the first few letters. He hastens his pace. 

You clench down on him hard and cry out. 

He grits his teeth from how you tighten around him throughout your orgasm. He fucks you during its duration, not letting up for a second, chasing his own end. His hands clench on your hips, digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. You collapse onto your pillow, your energy spent. He has no problem adjusting you exactly how he wants. Your leg is thrown over his shoulder and you keen at the change in angle. The head of his cock finds a sensitive, spongy area that you hadn’t realized existed. You arch into him and whine. 

“B-Blade,” you whine, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin, “Too much… It’s too much…!” 

Tears form in the corner of your eyes. One trickles down your cheek, which he promptly licks off. 

“I know. Be good,” he pants.

The insults you set aside earlier form on your tongue. They die a swift death again, for his breath hitches and he groans by your ear. 

Heat floods your tender insides. He forces your hips flush against him, his thrusts stuttering and then stopping entirely. Wave after wave of his thick cum coats your walls. It never seems to end — his throbbing cock continues releasing the viscous substance until it has no choice but to form globs that leak out of you. 

Meanwhile, he slants his lips sloppily against yours, almost growling when you whimper. He pulls back and thrusts in one last time, pushing his release as deep inside as it can go. 

You both heave desperately for air. He still doesn’t pull out, even when his cock goes soft. Something tells you he’d be content to leave it there for as long as you permit. 

“My blanket… I’ll have to wash it.” 

“Mm.” 

Blade fixes the strands of hair sticking to your temples. You tilt your head toward his hand. It’s been so long. A small, malicious fragment of yourself taunted how you’ll never enjoy another’s touch again. That your fate would be one defined by solitude. How could you take a lover with such a risk looming over your head? The last time had been disastrous. It haunts you more effectively than any ghost. 

He pulls out. 

The newfound emptiness feels strange. 

Blade rolls off of you and slides his briefs on. You watch his every movement through heavy eyelids. The scars along his chest seem like nothing compared to the amount on his back. They lay heavy along his neck, shoulders, and spine. The off-color stripes are all similar in length and width. Your stomach churns violently as you realize it must’ve been intentional. 

He must know you’re staring, but he doesn’t utter a word as he finishes getting dressed. 

A petal falls from the bouquet of purple roses Kafka gifted.

The slight movement earns his immediate attention, a reminder of how sharp his senses are. 

You grab a nearby blanket to cover your chest and crawl over, curious about what’s caught his interest. 

Blade picks up your crystal lotus. Its multiple surfaces change color depending on the angle he holds it at, refracting the low light in your room. He inspects it with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. 

“That’s from my mother,” you explain. “She was never big on gift giving, but… for whatever reason, a few years before her death, she started leaving me little trinkets like that. I have a whole drawer full of them.” 

You smile as best as you can, not wanting to be a downer. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” 

His eyes find yours in the mirror.

He nods.

[cerastes]

Specter: "Have you seen Swordfish? I had some questions regarding the roster for the deployment tomorrow, best to get those inquiries done and settled before showtime, and all that."

Skadi: "I think I saw her with doctor Kal'tsit, they were going towards the dormitories together... Probably her room."

Specter: "Oh, wonderful, then I get to ask the two head honchos about it instead of just the left side of the brain, should make matters more simple."

Skadi: "Hey, now, wait a second, Laurentina. I said to slow down. Surely you don't mean to interrupt them?"

Specter: "Interrupt what? A strategic meeting? I dare think I have a voice in such sundry matters as much as anyone who is ordered to take cannonfire to the face in her duties on a nigh daily basis. The value I can add to any given conversation is not to be understated, my little Orca."

Skadi: "I'd consider that a complaint, where it to come from the mouth of anyone except you, Shark. But seriously, think about it a little... The two of them, alone, not in any of the meeting rooms or the offices, but rather in the dormitories. You can add those twos together with ease."

Specter: "Surely you jest, Orca? Are you suggesting that I could be so uncouth as to intentionally, naively, brazenly sling open the doors to the realm of intimacy between two entangled, probably very sweaty souls? Non-sense! I so confidently stride because I know that's not even a possibility!"

Skadi: "Elaborate. And seriously, slow down."

Specter: "Those two old wells haven't seen a trickle of moisture in years, I'd reckon. They are all-business, no non-sense, well oiled chaste tactical machines! Young, dumb and full of cum? Try old, cold, and full of mold! And I love them so, but let us be real for a microsecond, my little Orca, can you truly picture Swordfish and Miss Kal'tsit doing the Sargon Speedbump? Or the Laterano Excommunication? Perro Style? Get real, dearest, they are more likely to be playing checkers than they are to be making Bolivar Pancakes in there. And she's absolutely in there, reeks of that seawater with a tinge of warmth so characteristic of her behind this door."

Skadi: "First of all, never say any of those words ever again, but you're right, it smells like the Captain in there. There, past that door, with a plaque that very clearly reads 'Kal'tsit'. Let's, perhaps, mind our own business and just field your questions tomorrow early."

Specter: "You truly are insistent on these fantasies of yours, Skadi! It's so cute and endearing how you think that could even be possible! Ahem... Pardon, Swordfish, Miss Kal'tsit, I've got some inquiries regarding tomorrow's sortie that I was hoping to--"

*Specter opens the door and has a full frontal VIP seat peep at Gladiia running her hands deep inside of Kal'tsit's dress, half-lidded red eyes staring back at the intruding shark, straddling the doctor with her lithe yet strong frame, a cougar that's not yet had enough of its meal. The silence is filled only by greedy little gasps seeking to oxygenate two hearts that have very clearly not have had enough of each other just yet, an almost primal hunger in the two pairs of eyes that glared guillotines at the interloper, deafeningly silent yet clearly inquisitive as the trails of saliva that connected their lips lost its tension and threatened to snap*

Specter:

Skadi: "Hm. So, I tried to warn her, but--"

Specter: "Orca, look! Isn't it gallant, isn't it inspiring? Swordfish is hard at work, making a younger sibling for me! Oh, how splendid!"

Skadi: "LAURENTINA!"

Specter: "Oh, how simply joyous! Observe! Swordfish fully intends to cultivate that moist, fertile delta, and from it shall life spring! Orca, we'll care for a brave new Hunter soon, we must be on our best behavior and be good influ--"

Skadi: "With your pardon!"

*Skadi secures the interloping shark with a deft armlock and beats a hasty yet perfectly gallant retreat, closing the door behind her in such a hurry that the entirety of the landship shook. Many a Messenger on-board would remember this as the Localized Earthquake of 1099, which would go on to prompt emergency preparations for a sudden Catastrophe overnight, but that is a story for another time. Back in the dormitory room, as the younger Hunters exfiltrated themselves from the battlefield that was that room, after a cautionary yet eternal few minutes of silence and stillness, just in case that door decided to open again, the senior Hunter dismounted the doctor.*

Kal'tsit: "...Well? So what was that about?"

Gladiia: "My sincere apologies, Dame Kal'tsit, and you have my gratitude for having gone along with my drastic, sudden strategy."

Kal'tsit: "Don't worry about it. So?"

*Gladiia nods and, from a little corner behind Kal'tsit's bedside cupboard, carefully drags out a small table with a checkers board on it. The game is clearly quite progressed, with one side having a clear advantage.*

Gladiia: "I did not want Shark to see me, as some land-dwellers would put it, 'getting bodied' so badly in this showdown of ours."

Kal'tsit: "Because she would never let you hear the end of it?"

Gladiia: "Not for a couple of lifetimes, no."

Kal'tsit: "You have my sympathy and understanding, don't worry about it. Now..."

Gladiia: "...Yes. It's about time I reverse my fortune. Ready yourself, Dame Kal'tsit."

*Kal'tsit then proceeded to win the next game, as she did the previous seven, and they played lots more checkers afterwards*

[takami-takami]

Mean To Me.

kinktober day 3: exhibitionism

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. smut.

warnings— afab!reader. fem titles and clothing. subby hawks. brat taming. mistress title. edging. bullying, so mean to him. masturbation. masochism. light dacryphilia.

Hawks is a slut for doms, you heard it here first!

Even through his misbehavior, there is a written pattern in his actions that you’ve come to observe: Keigo is quite well-trained.

One word of your command, and he'll reduce himself to groping his own chest for your entertainment. He'll throw his head back at the pinpricks of pleasure that plague every inch, scorching his skin with an unbearable ache as he pinches and prods under your dutiful eye. 

Some questions remain unanswered, however. For instance, it would be impossible to answer whether the whine in his voice comes from the way he's teasing the sensitive, reddened peaks, or from how his blood boils at the thought of being watched by you. 

Perpetual surveillance makes for a well-behaved boy; and every move of his is monitored by you across the room, scantily clad in his favorite black lingerie set and lounging across the loveseat parallel to his bed.

"I need it," Keigo rasps, squirming against the sheets. Thick, lubed digits squelch with each movement as the poor thing attempts to fingerfuck himself with even a fraction of the prowess of your poisonous touch. 

To your delight, the recreation is quite sad, actually. It makes for a delicious little struggle.

"Please. Need it so fucking bad—" 

"Language," you correct, letting one leg sway lazily over an armrest.

"That's not even a rule," he wails, throwing his head back with the beginnings of a tantrum. 

"It is now," you say, sauntering over just to twirl a strand of hair in spirals around your fingertip. It's almost pathetic how easily he arches into your touch when you look down on him like this, admiring up close his fucked-out pout and hazy eyes.

"And lose the attitude." You fist the roots, yanking it straight back to force him to look you in the eye.

"Sorry," he squeaks.

"You do like it when I bully you, don't you," you ask. Though you both know it hardly counts as a question, such humiliating inquiries reinforce a power dynamic, a reversal of the roles evident with every ounce of filth that pours from your lips to trickle down his spine. 

"You're so mean to me," Keigo whines, a hitched whimper swallowed before the sound can mingle with the tension that crackles thick in the air. 

It's a compliment as much as it is a complaint. 

That same hand that played with his chest releases it suddenly, darting down between those trembling thighs to grip the heat between. It would be a crime to listen to that merciless lilt in your prosody— all venom, matriarchy, and lust— without touching himself to the sound of it. 

It's simply an indulgence of his voice kink, nothing more.

Keigo squeezes himself, speeding up his grip on his dick every uptick while he holds your gaze, mouth agape. With his neck still strained, those puppydog eyes remain trained reservedly on yours. 

He can't help but touch himself when you look down on him like this. It's not his fault, he thinks, that his hand begs to crawl down every time you speak; because all he can visualize with his last remnants of a thought is you, hissing those same words as you bounce atop his lap.

Him, bound and perhaps gagged to be used like a toy. You, entirely free to do whatever the fuck you want to him.

"But I do. I love it. It's so hot," he says over the slick sounds between his thighs. "Fuck, baby. It's so hot." 

"Of course you like it. Fuckin' masochist," you spit, and Keigo swears his blood sings.

Satisfied with his predictable decision to trade dignity for obedience yet again, you release your grip on his roots and allow his head to fall forward with a whimper once more. A jingle rings in your ears, the clicked collar around his neck clinking with the movement. 

Head hanging, chest heaving, and cock swollen; tip swelling a blushing, scarlet red with pre leaking from the slit at each agonizing edge he endures— this is the man Keigo has begged to be reduced to.

Through the strands of hair that dust over his eyes, one golden eye peeks open and watches your heels clack leisurely against the floor on your way back to your seat. 

"Aww, you want it that bad? You're not above begging for my strap, are you?" 

You plop down once more against your throne, crossing your legs and beginning to tap a single nail against the armrest.

It's a contemplative action and it sends trembling waves of fearful arousal through each singing nerve in Keigo's body, down his twitching cock and heaving core. It taps unbearably loud over his open, agonized sobs of agreement; like he genuinely believes he'll get a little bit of pussy if he acts pathetic enough. 

How ironic. That only makes him more pathetic in your eyes.

"Mm… Yeah, baby. 'M not. Please give it to me." He blinks back the tears, looking up at you with the most pitiful eyes as he can manage. Mercy is a treat earned, after all, and his hopes all happily rise to his throat in the form of a trill when he sees your pleased squint of approval. 

Shifting, he squirms in anticipation. The next chapter of this little game is imminent, and he must mentally prepare for the sweet release he is certain will be awarded to him.

In his mind's eye, Keigo sees himself clearly, caged beneath your thighs. He feels the phantom squeeze around his cock, milking and wringing the flesh of it with each stroke as you take him. Letting his eyes flutter closed, he can taste the heat of your insides, can feel the licks of desire like whips along his body as he waits patiently to empty his balls. They'll be painfully swollen from the strokes against his prostate you will treat him to beforehand— inevitably, just like you always do. 

Keigo lets loose a sigh of contentment, shifting his hips as he waits for his reward. 

You can hardly hold back a laugh when the idea occurs to you. 

"Ruin it for me." 

"What?" His voice cracks. 

"You heard me. I know you're not that dumb, sweets," you deadpan, ignoring the adorably perplexed furrow that begins to line his brow. 

His lips are parted, opening and shutting in disbelief. You almost want to gag them open wider. 

The reality of your words hasn't settled in quite yet, hasn't demolished the poor thing's hopes and dreams thoroughly enough for your liking.

"Even a fucked out little mind like yours can comprehend, oh," you count on your fingers for effect, his blown pupils following each movement. "Four measly little words. I'll say it again though, because it's fun to watch the way you cry about it: ruin it for me." 

"B-Baby, wait," he panics, blood draining from his face and surging downstream. When speaking with his hands to display any last shreds of authority, Keigo only succeeds in showcasing the way they tremble to your gleeful eyes. 

"Wait, w-wait," he begins to bargain. "We can talk about this, you don't gotta—" 

"Nope," you refuse. One glance at the twitching cock that oozes pre from the slit with every mean word, one look at the way his eyes go hazy with powerlessness, and you can ascertain two facts: the safeword is nowhere near his lips, and he loves this.

"You'll ruin it for me, won't you? Stop right as you go over the edge. Make it up to me for being bad."

Keigo huffs a pout. It’s a fit he pitches. 

Cute.

"You're f—" he catches himself. "You're cruel when you get like this."

Your eyebrows raise in mock surprise, uncrossing your legs and leaning your weight forward. You roll your eyes at Keigo's predictable gulp that follows, as he makes no effort to conceal his stare between those thighs that he'd much rather have like muffs around his ears. The thought creeps up and plagues his mind, a malady of memories of the times he spent hours lapping his fill with a blur of motion against his own neglected cock.

The swallow that results is audible.

"I thought you liked me being mean to you?" 

A hand makes its way to conceal his mouth when he looks away, neck scorching with heat. 

There is an agonizing dichotomy in the pleasure and fear Keigo feels when he begins to touch himself again. Those watery eyes quickly roll back into his head.

Beating his dick to the tune of his anticipatory sobs of denial, he knows it feels incredible. He can feel it building, crackling pleasure against his cock as he rubs it with each loud, wet stroke. Chest heaving with each twist of his wrist, up and down, wings flapping madly like a dog's wagging tail— it all feels too fucking good; but Keigo knows, logically, that this would-be orgasm is going to fizzle into the most dissapointing faux release he's ever had the displeasure of experiencing. 

He can pretend it doesn't hurt, he tells himself. Judging by the sparks of pleasure wracking his body now, the orgasm he's about to give up would have been one of the strongest he's ever had.

Pity.

When he "cums," it's to the backdrop of his tortured sobs. 

All he gets is a phantom throb and a river of cum that leaks pathetically when he tears his hands away at the last second.

Frantic with denial and tormented by a painful ruin, Keigo's hands reach out and grip the air before those claws sink angrily into the sheets and clench. Breaths escape his bitten lips in hot puffs, eyes bleary with water when they stare in utter helplessness at his equally weeping cock. 

All he can do, all he's permitted to do is twitch like the poor, untouched cock that empties itself against his stomach with each pleasureless pulse.

"Tell me," you interrupt. "Do boys like you deserve to cum?"

He furiously shakes his head from side to side, hitching high-pitched hiccups from the back of his throat. It's with a sob and a bitten lip that he sinks further in his slouch, nearly stomping his foot like a tantrum. Another jingle of his collar rings out with the motion.

"You're lucky you're even getting this," you goad, just to rub some salt in it. "Do you deserve it, baby?"

"Yes, mistress," Keigo mumbles the response automatically, fuzzy until your expectant glare pops his budding bubble of bliss. "I-I mean, no, I don't— thank you, mistress."

You hum. "Felt good, huh?"

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Keigo hiccups when he nods.

It's only half a lie.

Physically, it was excruciating; but mentally, he'll be replaying this memory with a bottle of lubricant and his fist tight for weeks to come, desperate to keep the image fresh in his mind.

"What an adorable little ruin. Much too good for my sweet, sweet boy," you purse your lips when you tease, tapping Keigo's cock with the tip of your heeled boots and watching him flinch.

"You know what, Kei'? I think I'll have you give me another."

[motelnatural]

i see religious symbolism i mutual !!!!! hello

YIPPEEE!!!!!!!!! religious symbolism is so tasty to me especially regarding spn. i don't consume much media that Has religious symbolism so like ..... spn has me in its hands bc WHEW!!!!!!!!! ITS EVERYWHERE!!!!!!!

[bugeater101]

Telepathy

Synopsis: Game night takes a turn when you're coerced to tell your friends your favourite things to do in the bedroom. Albeit embarrassing, you happily spring at the chance to show your non-conservative side. Yet, the truth is, you do so only because you want Hyunjin to see it. Luckily, when you run into him later that night, you realize the embarrassment had been worth it; it's as if he can read your mind as he gives you all you have dreamed of.

Content: brief mentions of physical insecurities and lack of love life, alcohol consumption, mutual pining, switch!Hyunjin (lots of subwhiningdesperatebabyboy!Hyunjin), switch!reader, slight perv!reader, thigh fucking!!1!!!1!1!, nipple play, lotssssssss of teasing, mating press, unprotected sex (DON'T DO THIS), excessive begging, cum painting, thick/fat/curvy/plus size! reader (as always :]).

Word Count: 8.3k

Author's Notes: This goes out to Hyunjin, who haunts me. This also goes out to all y'all who enjoy my work! Thanks for sticking by me. I'm sorry it took so long to put something new out. It's been a hard few months with some misadventures and some great ones! But, I'm glad to be writing again! This one is for all of my followers, mutuals, anons, and those who send in requests <333 Here's to more fics and stories in 2023! Love y'all!!

Taglist: @scribblemetae @mygsis, @9900z, @taekbokki,, @imtoooyoungforthisshit

"I swear to God, it's the absolute best," you laugh.

"OKAY, I BELIEVE YOU," Jeongin belted out. "Now PLEASE get off of me!"

Jeongin's hands were up in the air as if he was surrendering himself to you. Though he wasn't really afraid of you, he did fear touching you, especially since you were in such a precarious position. His eyes were clamped shut— not just from his laugh that caused his cheeks to swell his lids, but because he truly did not want to look.

None of you expected a night of drinking and games to turn out like this. It began with you, Hyunjin, Felix, Jeongin, and Han playing Mario Kart and watching a movie in a drunken, belligerent state, barely paying attention as you yelled curses and vulgarisms at the screen. However, the evening quickly took a turn when you decided to play "truth or truth".

The original "truth or dare" and the more aggressive "dare and dare" games were off the table after Felix ended up in the ER with a chipped tooth after Jeongin dared him to do a backflip while drunk. Needless to say, "truth or dare" had hit the end of its shelf life. So, you guys were happy to play the modified version. Yet, combined with your inebriated state, the game of "truth or truth" always quickly devolved into asking strictly invasive and borderline insane questions. In other words, all questions were related to each others' sex lives (or lack thereof). It was Han's turn, and, of course, he had to ask you what had been bothering him.

"What do girls like in the bedroom?" he slurred out. "But, like, you, specifically?"

"Who the fuck phrases a question like that?" Jeongin hiccuped out.

"Literally," Felix laughed.

"Shutthefuckup! Let her answer!" Jisung shouted in response, stringing his words together. Regardless of your apprehensions about the question, you laughed at the drunken man in an attempt to ease yourself.

Since you were adamant about Han's rather perverted question, you considered passing. You knew the boys would allow you to pass with little complaint, especially considering that it's a rather personal inquiry. The only catch is that you would then be forced to complete a dare in exchange for your liberation (which you were extremely against knowing that the last time you completed a dare, you had to go to physiotherapy for five weeks).

And, frankly, you couldn't deny the benefits of answering Han's question: you would get to show the boys a side of you that you keep so well hidden. Truthfully, it sounded... freeing.

All the boys seeing you like this, straddling a mutual friend you would never see as more than strictly platonic ... it made you feel giddy. Yet, you knew you weren't thinking about all the boys; you were thinking about one boy in particular. One boy that you've had your eye on for quite some time, actually.

With that in mind, you decided to say "yes".

Hyunjin was eyeing you as you pretended to seduce Jeongin, giggling stiffly as you hyped yourself to complete your challenge. You glanced at Hyunjin any chance you got, hoping to gauge his reaction to every little thing you did.

Yet, with every little thing you did, Hyunjin stood still. Even when you finally clamoured on Jeongin, causing him to whine and make the room scream, Hyunjin was the only one to remain silent. Jeongin dug his fingers into the couch, adverted his eyes like he was a sinner and you were God, and prayed for forgiveness. You even had to slightly grind your hips to show the boys what you meant when you were explaining what you liked. And, yet, Hyunjin remained solemn.

Every act you performed made this "truth" feel more like a "dare". Still, you persisted. You wanted Hyunjin to look—and not just stare blankly, but truly see you.

Though he was across the room from you, you could still dream that he had switched places with Jeongin. Imagining he was underneath you instead, digging his hands into your ass as he urged you to "please, go faster y/n" as the little whines escaped him. All the while, his friends—your friend—would exchange nervous glances, but never move. God, they were perverts too, weren't they? Getting off on seeing their friends fuck each other. You could practically see their hard-ons growing at the sight. But Hyunjin wouldn't care; he was shameless. He would beg, plead under you. Sweat beading off of his head as his tongue stuck out, panting like a mutt with every rut of your hips into his. "My Hyunjin," you thought, mouth drying at your deviance, "all for me, my needy baby."

Fuck, you interrupted yourself, ending your train of thought. Get out of my head, Hyunjin!

You couldn't start thinking about him while you were straddling a mutual friend. Not to mention you were straddling said mutual friend to show Hyunjin and two other friends the kind of fucking sex positions you enjoyed. Even though you hovered well above Jeongin—with a book even on his lap (upon both of your urgent insistence) to maintain a distance between you two and your hands hovering above him constantly—you still knew it was messed up to think of Hyunjin below you instead of Jeongin. Jeongin was only there because you guys needed someone to be the victim of your own punishment, and it just so happened that Jeongin failed to answer his own "truth". So, now the unlucky fellow was trapped under you, adverting his gaze as his ears turned red.

For now, Hyunjin needed to stay out of your mind.

Nevertheless, your mind continued to pester you with thoughts of Hyunjin. Was he looking at you right now? Of course, he was looking, but was he looking? Was he staring at you, wondering if you were telling the truth to all these horny 20-something- year-old-boys about your favourite sex positions? Did he look at you and wonder if he could suck your tits while you rode him from that angle? Was he hoping your sweat would taste so sweet mixed with his? Your cum, even?

Fuck, stop thinking about him! you urged yourself.

You tried to keep your thoughts about Hyunjin in a cramped closet in your mind. He was your friend, and you had considered the possibility of you and him numerous times and in countless situations. You always questioned if he liked you, if he ever saw you as more than a friend, or even attractive. In your own personal opinion, you were stunning. Yet, to believe that Hyunjin found you attractive was a different question. Doubt clouded your mind, and soon negative thoughts accumulated and eventually overshadowed any confidence you had in your emotions toward your Hyunnie. Now, after hours and hours of thinking (and many teary-eyed conversations with Felix), you decided that you could only ever be platonic with Hyunjin.

Whatever emotions you had towards him would have to be suppressed for the betterment of the friend group and the preservation of your friendship. Maybe that's why you're straddling Jeongin right now, insisting that it's the perfect position for a guy to suck your tits while you ride him. Maybe it's the only chance you can do such a position with Hyunjin even in the same room as you, albeit just as a voyeur to a rather uncomfortable position between friends.

Jeongin was still howling under you, almost in tears from how funny but unorthodox the situation was. It's moments like this that you truly enjoy the coyness of your friends, because in no other situation would be able to make Jeongin so utterly flustered. It made you giggle more. In fact, every screech and wail from the boy made everyone laugh harder, tears beginning to brim your eyes.

"OKAY YOU MADE YOUR POINT NOW," Jeongin cried, actual tears starting to fall from your eyes. "NOW GET OFF OF ME."

"NO, I HAVEN'T!" You hollered back, wanting to prolong Jeongin's suffering. Hyunjin was momentarily out of your mind as you put all your energy towards prolonging Jeongin's torture. "I need to explain why I like it, Innie!" You added cutesy and teasing emphasis to the nickname, purposefully teasing him in the hopes of inducing even more suffering.

"YOU DON'T NEED TO DO THAT, YOU DICK!" Jeongin cried, tears welling in his eyes. At this point, you could barely hold yourself on top of him, laughter swelling in your chest.

"I don't even get a chance to explain myself?!" You laughed evilly.

"You finished your dare, y/n," Han cackled, "Get off the poor boy!" With the little strength you could gather, you stumbled off of him, collapsing to the floor and wiping your eyes clean. Han was on the floor now too, barely breathing with each maniacal laugh. Felix was holding onto the counter now as his laughter consumed him. And, through your tears and gasps for breath, there stood Hyunjin. He seemed to be forcing out a chuckle here and there, hand on a counter in an attempt to pass as an act of relaxation. He was not dying of laughter as the four of you were (more like three considering that Jeongin might actually be dead now).

Thankfully, you couldn't focus on that. As your stomach began to cramp from giggles, your mind was absent of Hyunjin for the first time that night; it was too busy watching as Han kept bringing Felix to the ground each time he tried to help him up. The laughter almost refused to subside, a single glance causing one of you to burst into tears again.

Nevertheless, the game of "truth or truth" magically managed to resume.

Soon, Felix and Jeongin were whispering with ill intent, deciding on a question for Han as payback for his last "truths". You decided to skip the rest of the game, feeling like your turn took all your courage out of you, and opted to linger in the kitchen while Hyunjin cleaned.

"Why aren't you playing?" You asked while swinging your feet from the countertop you were situated on.

Hyunjin shook his head. "Ah, I'm tired," he responded in a simple voice. "Plus, this place is a mess." You laughed, unable to deny the state the apartment was left in after this night's bender.

Alcohol still lingered in you, yet the night was beginning to die down. So, tackling the mess now insured an easier hangover cleanup tomorrow. It made sense, sure. However, what didn't make sense was that Hyunjin was the one cleaning the place up.

"Well, living with Chan, Changbin, and Han sure has changed you, then," you commented. Hyunjin chuckled at the comment, head still down at the cup he was absent-mindedly scrubbing. He couldn't deny that he was often the one making and leaving messes.

"Maybe living with the three true fraternity boys of the group changed something in you."

"Maybe," Hyunjin responded, not offering any other commentary. You stared at his hands longer, pondering his actions.

"Why are you cleaning up?" You asked. Hyunjin stopped scrubbing and glanced up at you, almost shocked at your question, as if it was as invasive as asking him his favourite sex positions then requiring him to demonstrate in front of his closest friends. He shrugged.

"What do you mean?"

"You never clean. You're the one making the messes, babe," you laughed, noticing how he perked up at the petname. "Is something up?"

Hyunjin's mouth opened to answer but nothing came out, letting the giggles of the other three boys fill the silent space instead. He shut his mouth, thought for a second, then sighed.

"Just needed to get out of the game, I guess," he said in an almost-whisper. Now it was your turn to be confused.

"Whatever do you mean?" You leaned on your palms, allowing yourself to move closer to the tall figure that was your bewitchingly attractive friend. God, you could just lean in and kiss him right now. So briefly, too. Would he even notice? You look into his eyes, searching for his thoughts, hoping he feels your telekinetic kisses.

Suddenly, Hyunjin broke the silence that had grown between you.

"Can you explain it?"

The question stunted any response you could muster. Now it was your turn to open your mouth with no sound to come out.

"What... what do you mean?" God, you sound like a broken record. You knew what he was referring to, but—if the blush on your face was evidence enough—bravery had evaded you. Hyunjin smirked and chuckled, glancing away before refocusing on you.

"You know what I mean," redness spread up his ears, making him glow. "If you don't mind me asking at least... why do you... like to straddle your partners?"

Well, if there was any way to politely ask your friends why they liked the sex positions they did, that was the way to phrase it. However, that didn't prevent you from devolving again. Muteness consumed you, the blush on your face making you wholly red.

Yet, Hyunjin didn't pull the question away. He didn't tell you it was okay if you didn't want to answer, didn't even say he wouldn't judge. Instead, he let the question hang in the air. It devoured the space between you, silence shrinking as everything seemed to grow loud. It was almost as if Hyunjin didn't retract the question because he needed to know the answer. Like he wanted to make you embarrassed, to blush for him, to make him wait because he knew that—one way or another—you would tell him.

You cleared your throat.

"I... suppose..." you began. Hyunjin leaned in, your small voice aching to be heard.

"It's, like... the closeness of it. Being held, pressed against each other... it does something." Your eyes could barely meet his, decidedly losing yourself in your thoughts to avoid eye contact with the person you dream about doing this stuff with. You could feel his gaze burn into you.

"Chest pressed against chest," you continued, your voice growing more assured but still so goddamn quiet. "Like your hoping to feel closer with every touch of skin. And you know you could never be closer to that person than you are in that moment... but, still, you ache, yearn for more. Every rut and bite is just a plea for more. And, if the person's right... you sort of feel like it's enough. Like you're enough."

The silence was now deafening. Before, a pin drop could be heard like the sound of a bell's toll. Now, it was as if the world was entirely silent, waiting for one of you to speak up. You wanted to say more, to say "and you are the right person Hyunjin, you always have been, please make me feel like I'm enough" and let him take you, fuck you right and in front of everyone, be his and him yours. Yet, your voice was gone, realizing the gravity of the words you just spoke. You tried to clear your throat in an effort to regain your speech, but it failed, and you were still silent.

However, the sound roused Hyunjin from his thoughts, alerting him of his surroundings. Though you thought he would pull away, he didn't move away; he leaned in.

"Who... who was the right person, y/n?" For the first time since your confession, you looked at Hyunjin. He was... hurt? He looked hurt, like tears could well up in his eyes and he could just bawl like an infant. And, to be frank, it made you want to cry, too.

You cleared your throat again, successfully regaining your voice this time.

"N-no one," you stuttered, slipping off of the counter and gingerly landing on your feet. "It was just... I was just thinking about what it could be like to be with... you know, the 'right person'." In an effort to emphasize your rather unsuccessful love life, you did air quotes and rolled your eyes at the last words. Hyunjin kept his head down and nodded, unable to make eye contact with you. Tonight is all about personal questions, you thought, making yourself almost chuckle.

"I'm-i'm sure the right person will come around, y/n," Hyunjin stammered. "You deserve the best, the absolute best." He started to ramble now, eyes clear but still adverting yours as he let words pour out of him without consequence.

"You deserve a proper confession, dates beyond your wildest imaginations to the humblest of comforts. You should be with someone that makes the simplest of occurrences feel special, like every day is filled with life. Someone who—even if things didn't work out—would make you a better person. Someone who would give you the whole world because they know you would take care of it. You deserve it."

His words hung around you for a second. Then another second. And Hyunjin suddenly realized all he had said.

Your heart felt like it was about to implode in your chest. It seemed like you would die if you didn't grab Hyunjin right now and tell him "the right person has come around, it's you and it will always be you. Please, look at me. See that you are the one for me, the only one I want. Please, give me your world."

Yet, you didn't. Why didn't you?

Hyunjin's words had caught up to him by now, and he aggressively gulped before staring back at the floor.

"A-anyway," he stuttered, "I'm..." he stopped himself, as if allowing himself to catch a breath before continuing. He let out a breath through his nose, "I'm positive the right person will come around, y/n."

You just nodded and stared at the ground, a grave smile being the only acknowledgment you give Hyunjin.

"I hope they do," you mumbled.

Why didn't you tell him?

---

God, what time is it?

Your head ached, the after-effects of alcohol beginning to settle in. Glancing at the blinking clock in the corner of Han's room, your blurred vision managed to catch the time.

Fuck. 4:08AM.

You figured that your hangover was what woke you; the dehydrated state of your body was obvious by the splintering headache and the desert that had settled in your throat. You probably fell asleep only a few hours ago. Now, you were shaking Han and Felix off of you, trying your best to slip out of Han's room after you guys passed out following last night's events.

Could it even be classified as "last night" when it was just 3 hours ago?

Despite the weariness of your body, you managed to drag yourself to the kitchen. Everyone was surely dead asleep, Han and Felix tangled in bed with Jeongin passed out on the floor beside them. Hyunjin slept in his room, giving an Irish Goodbye to you by leaving the living room without a word at about midnight. You couldn't lie by saying that you didn't miss his presence by the night's end.

Nevertheless, your mind was focused on one thing now: hydration. Water. Immediately. Something to make you feel alive.

Once your glass was poured and you took a sip, the water felt like the elixir of life. You chugged it greedily, feeling an instant rejuvenation as your headache felt like it was beginning to clear. This water was liquid gold.

"Y/n?"

The sudden presence of another person made you choke on the water.

"Oh shit," Hyunjin muttered as he rushed beside you and patted your back, helping you through your coughing spurt.

"Fuck," your voice cracked.

You cleared your throat again, "I didn't know anyone else was awake."

Hyunjin laughed, "I never even managed to fall asleep. Now I'm glad I got to witness your death." You shot him a glare, but it was instantly softened by noticing his light expression. God, he's handsome.

"I only choked because you startled me, asshole," you giggled through watering eyes. Hyunjin laughed too, rubbing your back as your coughing ceased.

"You good?"

"Yeah, for now," you responded. You sipped the rest of your water, finishing off the glass before pouring another. "But I'm for sure not gonna go back to sleep now." Hyunjin smiled.

"That means you can join me and my insomnia!" Hyunjin fake-cheered, making you smile and roll your eyes.

"Hooray to perpetual exhaustion," you joked dryly. Hyunjin giggled at your pain, starting to push you toward his room. Was his hand still on your back from your coughing spurt?

"Come to my room, we can talk without worrying about waking the others," he murmured. He led you to his room, shutting the door behind him as you placed your water on his desk.

"I seriously doubt we could wake them up," you laughed, allowing your voice to rise to its normal decibel now that walls separated you from the other boys. "I practically stepped on Jeongin when I left and he barely stirred. I'm pretty sure he might be dead."

Hyunjin tried not to laugh, still aware of how quite he should be.

However, after glancing at you, the laugh died in his throat. You were teasing the seams of his duvet, testing the thread count as you rubbed the fabric between your fingers. Instantly, a blush crept up on his face.

Hyunjin imagined you enjoyed the softness of his sheets; he had wanted to share them every night with you. If only you had taken his hints, seen past his nervous demeanour and realized that he wanted you so deeply and intensely. Those very sheets had witnessed their fair share of Hyunjin desperately fucking his hand every night, praying one day that you would be there instead.

Now, you were here. Alone. Waiting for him.

"Why are you still standing?" you asked.

Fuck, he had been staring. He shook his head, trying to make his dirty thoughts shake off of him like water droplets in his hair.

"Sorry," he grumbled, "might actually be more exhausted then I thought."

Suddenly, he felt your hands on his arm, tugging him away from the wall.

"Well, then get into bed," you giggled. Before he could laugh along, you suddenly jerked his arm. Hard. You had backed straight into his bed and fallen into you, pulling him with you.

"Shit!" You yelped as you bounced on the mattress, Hyunjin landing right after you. Luckily, before he could crush your body with his, his palms outstretched and he managed to catch himself. Now, he was positioned above you, eyes shut from the sudden fall.

When he opened his eyes, there you were.

He was on top of you. You were below him.

Yet, you didn't move. And neither did he.

"Shit— sorry," he stammered out, face and ears glowing red.

"I-it's okay," you muttered, "accidents happen." Your eyes looked into his, studying his face in the brief moments when they darted away from his gaze.

Hyunjin gulped. "Yeah, all the time." God, he was beautiful.

"I suppose I should get off now." You nodded slightly, the little movement of your head making it obvious how little space there was between your bodies.

"Yeah, of course," you whispered.

And again, strangely enough, neither of you made effort to move. In fact, Hyunjin, got down on his elbows, his lips only centimetres from yours.

"Was it true?" he asked out of the blue.

"W-what?" you stuttered.

"That you like being close... and..." He was starting to loose himself in you, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't losing yourself in him. You were pressed so tightly against him. Your pulse could even be felt through your plump chest, your heart practically jumping out of your ribcage, out of your chest.

"And...?" you continued, your lips ghosting over his.

"And... that no one has ever been that close to you?" He asked. You gulped.

"No... but there is someone I want to..." Your sentence trailed off.

You could hardly think now. Fuck, finish your words, you urged yourself. Say it.

You gulped. You didn't want Hyunjin to finish your words. You wanted to say it yourself. You wanted the words to leave your mouth. And, from the expression on Hyunjin's face, he wanted you to say it, too. Just as before, he let the silence rest between you, not retreating from it but letting it simmer. He refused to fill the emptiness.

"There is someone I want to be that close to me," you finally finished. Hyunjin's tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips, and you swore you could feel it ghost yours due to how close you were.

"Who, y/n?" He finally questioned.

The question was like the straw that broke the camel's back. It was as if Hyunjin's words gave you a morsel of confidence like you were magically able to tell him all you wanted to say. He had finally asked you, and thank God he did.

"You know who it is, Hyunjin," you teased, straight face. Hyunjin's eyes stared back into yours.

"Say it." He demanded, "Say their name."

You smiled.

"It's you, Hyunjin," you stated breathlessly. "It's always been you."

The words were almost like an agreement. As if your telepathic powers finally worked and Hyunjin—after countless hours of pinning—heard your pleas: fuck me Hyunjin, have me, please.

His mouth pressed into yours desperately, moans instantly leaving him from the relief of tasting you. Your reaction was eerily similar to his. Whimpers poured out of you as your hands pressed into his chest, pawing at him through the thin material of his t-shirt. Though you had waited forever to feel him like this, uninhibited by social customs that barred friends from being so close, the space your hands created between your bodies was unbearable. Instead, you rubbed up his chest and shoulders, briefly groping his muscular arms before resting your hands on his back. You then pushed into his muscular shoulder blades, pushing him further into your plump body in an attempt to bring him closer because, fuck, he could never be close enough.

"God, fuck," Hyunjin gasped as his hands tangled in your hair, his kisses messy. The mess of spit and teeth caused you to moan, hunger practically leaking out of both of you. His kisses moved down from your lips to your jaw, now resting on your neck as he kissed and sucked on the sensitive skin.

"I—want to be so close to you—y/n," he said between kisses, the words being more of a plea than a statement. A beg more than an ask.

"H-Hyunjin..." you whimpered as he whined into you.

"Just—like you—wanted, yeah? I— want to feel you— wrapped—around me," he moaned as he rutted into you. You couldn't hold back your own moans.

"Hyujin—"

"So tight—you'd be—so tight, riding me—fuck. I'd let— you do— whatever—you want to me, y/n. Ride me—please."

Tears were almost brimming in your eyes at his words, despite his obscenities. You were so full of love for him that the aspect of him doing this to you—loving you and blatantly doing so in such acts of desperation—made you overflow with adoration.

However, you couldn't trick him any longer.

"Wait, Hyunnie, wait," you protested, pulling him so his face was again above yours.

"What's—what's wrong baby?" He asked between kisses to your cheeks. God, he couldn't stop kissing you even if you asked him to wait. He'd be gentle, slow down maybe, but it seemed like he could never stop. Not with you, not ever.

Still, you needed to focus.

"I lied earlier," you replied, your voice light despite the heaviness of your words. Yet, Hyunjin didn't stop he let your words hang. He refused to stomp on your voice, wanting to use your words rather than finish your sentences for you. You were a big girl, and you could speak for yourself. Your words could've meant anything— lies about your love for him, about the desire to be here, anything. Regardless, Hyunjin kept kissing your face, now taking time to study your glossy, fucked-out eyes. Fuck, how could you be so pretty?

You gulped, trying to focus yourself and not get lost in his touch: how his kisses felt, how he rutted into you, and, god, how big his cock must be.

"I lied about... my favourite position," you stated.

That, surprisingly, was what made Hyunjin pull away. Though it was brief, you instantly yearned for the sensation of his touch.

"Well," he asked, occasionally glancing down at your reddened lips, "Then... what is it?"

From his words alone, you could tell that Hyunjin was yours. His tonality, his cadence, all of it told you that he was willing to do anything for you.

Then it became incredibly obvious when Hyunjin tried to guess what your favourite position really was.

"Doggy? No... fuck, as much as I'd like to see your ass from that angle, it's not close enough. Even if I'd press you into me, hold you by your throat, lick the shell of your ear, and whisper dirty things to you," his words made him start slowly rutting into you again. "Fuck, it still wouldn't be enough. I wouldn't be able to see your beautiful face. Hmph—" Hyunjin stopped dragging his cock across your clothed cunt, the stimulation becoming overbearing.

Yet, he continued.

"What about missionary? Or is too formal?"

Hyunjin stared at you as he continued to list off all the positions he knew, unaware of your agape mouth and the blush that never seemed to fade from your face. Clearly, he had been thinking about fucking you as much as you wanted to fuck him.

Hyunjin's eyes were shut now, getting lost in his fantasies as he brought your leg up to his chest so he could rub his growing erection deeper into you. His sweat pants barely constrained him as his eyes pinched and his words stuttered.

Before you could let Hyunjin continue, your words halted him.

"None of that, Hyunnie," you whispered. "Please... can I... can I show you?" Hyunjin's eyes shot open.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "How do you want me, y/n?"

With a few words and repositioning, Hyunjin arranged himself exactly how you requested. Leaning against the headboard of his bed, Hyunjin eyed you as you sat beside him, playing with his hair. He was in his boxers now, stripped of his loungewear and his blush spreading down his chest. You had stripped down, too, only retaining your cropped tank top which your nipples poked through and panties as a flimsy cover for your cunt. Hyunjin was practically drooling at seeing you so bare, your full tummy pudge making his mouth water.

"I want to mark your tummy, baby," he breathed out, hands fisting the sheets in an attempt to ground himself. "With my kisses, with my hickies, with my cum, with—"

Your laugh stopped him. The light smile on your face contrasted with the absolute deprivation plastered on Hyujin's. He needs you, and here you were, teasing him.

"Aw, I thought you wanted to help me, Hyunnie," you teased. Your hand traced down his chest, fingers brushing lightly against his abs, ribs, and anywhere that would give him goosebumps. Hyunjin leaned his head, whimpering at your touch.

"Fuck— yes," he groaned, "a-anything for you, y/n, anything."

You giggled. "Then let me take my time, baby." Your hand traced his waistband, making Hyunjin gasp. Thankfully, your hand dipped lower, grasping his cock through the strained fabric of his boxers.

"Mmm— Fuck," he whimpered. His voice faltered as you rubbed him slow and firm, his hips stuttering as you teased his tip.

"God, y/n, this can't be it," he protested. Your eyebrows raised quizzically.

"Whatever do you mean, Hyunjin?" Now it was his time to use his words.

"Please," he mewled, "please, show me the position... don't just play with my cock. Please."

Fuck, how could you deny him like this? Practically crying for you? Your smile grew, satisfied with his response.

"Okay, Hyunnie," you chuckled. Pulling your hand away from him, Hyunjin's eyes shot open, offended by the fleeting touch. Yet, before he could oppose the act, your hand push his torso back against the headboard, holding him steady as you readied yourself.

Sitting back on your knees, your hands grasped Hyunjin's. You guided him towards your crop top, as if you were silently telling him "undress me, take me." Hyunjin complied.

He undressed you eagerly, savouring the way your tits bounced out of your tight crop top. Next was your panties, which slid deliciously off of your legs as they clung to your cunt from your wetness. You took each garment of clothing from him, tossing the crop top aside but keeping the underwater dangling in your grasp. Hyunjin took a shaky breath in at the prospect of what you would do with them. Pump him with them? Let him taste your scent?

Sadly, you were simply teasing him. You quickly discarded them with the rest of your clothes, symbolizing your lack of interest in them but understanding the effect they had on Hyunjin. Your actions made Hyunjin whimper: he did not want to waste your panties nor waste any of your juices. Hyunjin almost wanted to beg now for you to stuff them in his mouth, his tolerance wearing thin.

"Sit back, Hyunjin," you stated, to which he immediately complied. He didn't even realize he had begun pulling towards you again. As soon as his back hit the headboard again, you began to rise from your knees. While maintaining eye contact with him, you sat back on your plump ass and allowed your legs to softly rest across Hyunjin's thighs. Almost immediately, Hyunjin's hands began to caress your legs, pressing the squishy flesh into his aching cock gently while relishing the feeling of your soft skin against his. He took another shaky breath in.

"I'm glad you like my legs, Hyunnie," you smiled. Hyunjin could barely break his stare away from the soft flesh as he agreed.

"More than like, y/n," he responded. You laughed.

"Good," you continued, "because in the position—my favourite position—my legs are a key feature." Those words were enough to break Hyunjin's trance and allow his eyes to focus on yours. God, if he didn't love you before, he surely did now. His grip on your thighs was almost painful but still deliciously satisfying.

"Please," he breathed out, almost choking on the air, "please, show me." And, of course, you complied. Bending your knees slightly, you moved your hands into the space and pulled Hyunjin's boxers down slightly, allowing his cock to spring free.

Fuck. You were right about his size.

His tip was red from the strain against the fabric, and your mouth watered at the idea of his cum filling your mouth. However, you needed to focus on the task at hand.

You slowly began to pump him. You wanted to stroke him to his full length, but from the size and hardness, you could tell Hyunjin was already about to cum. Other dead giveaways were Hyunjin's whimpers that filled the room, his precum that coated your hand, and how he drooled at your touch. In fact, Hyunjin's tongue hung out of his mouth, lightly panting at each stroke you offered him.

"F-fuck, baby," he whimpered, "Y/n, please, let me fuck you—hmm!" your hand suddenly pumped him faster before returning to your original tempo.

"Tut tut, Hyunnie," you tsked, "patience is a virtue. Don't you know that?" Hyunjin nodded vigorously, worried at the idea of you prolonging his torture.

"Your such a good boy, yeah?"

"O-only for y/n," his eyes were wide and teary, and your heartbeat reverberated a bit louder in your chest.

"Then you shouldn't rush what I want." With those words, you slowly lowered your plush thighs back across his lap. Slowly, you parted them, creating a small crevice through which you guided Hyunjin's swelling cock through. The soft, tight make-shift pussy that now encapsulated his dick made Hyunjin shake.

"Fuck, please." Tears threatened to spill from his eyes from pleasure. You just smiled.

Your thighs rested on his, now. His dick was snug between them, twitching when you squished them together and hugged him so nicely. Hyunjin's grip on you was harsh, leaving his knuckles white as he kept you close. One hand held you around your waist while the other massaged your calf, wrapping completely around your lower leg. Though fondling you, the act grounded him as he tried to distract himself from thrusting up into you. God, he wanted to be so good for you, make his words worth something.

Your touch wasn't helping. You rubbed his lower legs while your other hand continued to pet his hair, scratching in all the right places.

This. This was what you wanted. His cock, so snug and needy between your legs. And Hyunjin, the man of your dreams, purring at your touch. It was his beautifully desperate cock aching for stimulation. It was his red tip that leaked precum, that was dying to fuck your thighs, to fuck you. You almost didn't want to make him cum in fear that his release meant the end of this proximity between you. Though it pained him to be so teased, you still desired to keep like this, whining between your legs. Completely wrapped around your finger. Utterly devoted to you, waiting for your orders.

But, fuck, you just had to give him what he wanted. It was Hyunjin, for God's sake.

So, you indulged him. Your hand traced up his leg, up your juicy thighs, and towards Hyunjin's mouth. Your fingers traced his lips before pushing in and wetting them on his tongue. He hummed and whined against the pads of your index and middle fingers. He could've sucked on them forever. However, once they were satisfactorily wet, you retracted them, placing them in your own mouth and mixing his spit with yours. Hyunjin's eyes studied you intently, whimpering at your actions, anticipating what was to come.

Then, your hand—soaked in yours and his spit—ever so gently began to tease Hyunjin's aching tip that peaked out from between your thighs. Just a little. Just enough.

Hyunjin almost instantly began to thrust up into you, eagerly fucking your thighs and moaning loudly with each pump.

"Take it, baby," you whispered to his ears as you planted kisses on his scarlet cheeks, "take all I give you."

Hyunjin took your words as an invitation.

His lips kissed down your neck and collarbones, hand holding you close but not haltering the hand that fucked his poor cock. He held you close, so close. Each kiss made him pull you closer to his body, each kiss an anguished act to show you fuck, please be close to me, y/n.

As if reaching the end of his journey, Hyunjin's mouth settled on your chest. His hand that once caressed your legs now fondled your tits, pinching and twisting your nipple while his mouth sucked eagerly on the other. The slobber from his kisses left your chest glossy and, truth be told, made him so much hungrier for you. Each kiss made you moan louder, pump his dick harder, and press him nearer to you.

"I like being this close to my Hyunnie," you cried as your legs and hands fucked Hyunjin's cock. "Just-just like how I a-always wanted."

"Ah— fuck," Hyunjin moaned open mouth kisses into your chest, leaning more and more into your body while his hips fucked up into you more aggressively. As his hands and body contorted yours, the pressure he applied to you suddenly overpowered your own.

Hyunjin toppled over you, his cock freeing from your legs as you landed on your back against the bed. The change in position triggered something in Hyunjn. It was either that or seeing you sprawled out below him, glistening from the mixture of his spit and the sweat on your chest, making your tits look so much more delectable. Due to the sight of you, Hyunjin let his swollen lips slobber onto your chest, causing you to shiver at the sensation.

"Hyunnie..." you whined under him, "I didn't get to finish." The pout that layered your voice made Hyunjin want to give in to you. You were so unsatisfied with your unfinished performance and wanted to give him more and more. However, Hyunjin was the one who could truly voice dissatisfaction. After all, he was the one with a heavy erection that continuously leaked, begging for release. You had teased him for so long, and now, it was his turn.

"We have to take turns, y/n." Hyunjin smiled, "It's time to show you my favourite position."

You were at a loss for words. Hyunjin being above you was something you dreamed of, and now, under him, you were completely content on relinquishing your control over him in favour of having him own you, of making you his.

"Hyunnie," you pleaded, "show me."

In an instant, Hyunjin pinned your knees to your sides, squishing your torso between your thick thighs. Your chest, already marked and soaked in liquids, rubbed feverishly against Hyunjin's own bare torso. The sensations made you squirm, yet you could barely move with how tightly Hyunjin held you. To him, you were a doll, ready to use and malleable to his will.

Hyunjin's knees caged your own legs, his body using every limb and appendage to secure you underneath him. One hand, nevertheless, still held your head. Hyunjin, even in the lewdest moments, held you, wanted you, and pined for you.

His other hand, however, was guiding his reddening cock to your pussy.

"I've waited so long, y/n," he panted into your ear. "So long. And now you think you can tease me? Make me wait to take what's mine?"

You wanted to respond, truly you did, but your voice was stuck in your throat. Hyunjin rubbed his cockhead against your clit, teasing you both deliciously and gathering your juices on his heavy erection. Despite the minimal stimulus given to you, you were practically gushing.

"Aw, baby's too dumb to respond," Hyunjin cooed, his tongue darting out and licking the lobe of your ear, causing you to shiver.

"Please, y/n," Hyunjin whispered to you, "say the words, say anything and I'll give in." His cock continued to rub you up and down your cunt, ghosting but never fully entering you. It took every crumb of conviction to compose yourself. You needed to tell Hyunjin what you wanted, what you needed. You took a breath in, and—as shaky as it was—gained the air needed to speak.

"I-I'm your toy, Hyunnie," you mewled, "j-just yours, only Hyunjin's—ah!"

Your words were cut short as Hyunjin pushed into you, his cock rejoicing in being hugged by your plush walls.

"God," Hyunjin praised. His hips quickly picked up a fast, harsh speed, chasing the high he had been so sinfully neglected this whole night. Each push into you made you feel so full, so utterly and totally complete.

"Hyun-nie," you stuttered out as his dick pistoned into you.

"Fuck," Hyunjin panted, pressing his forehead to yours and allowing his sweat to trickle down you.

"Mmh! Hyunjin," you whimpered as his tip met that gummy spot inside you. Your high was quickly coming, the teasing you had subjected Hyunjin to all night obviously affecting you, as well.

"God, look at you," Hyunjin gasped, pulling away from the crook in your neck. Your glossy eyes could barely register Hyunjin above you, completely consumed by the way his cock felt inside you. Hyunjin could tell you were gone but did not relent in his pace. Instead, he let one hand trace up your body and begin to caress your face before sticking his thumb in your mouth, which you eagerly sucked. Hyunjin smirked as he dug deeper into you.

"Y/n," he moaned. "All that shit about closeness it's true, isn't it? But— fuck—but you also just wanna be used like a slut, allow me to fuck your thighs and use you how I like, huh?"

You wanted to nod, plead and agree with your love that yes, you were just a needy bitch that needed to be filled with cum in order to behave. Instead, you continued to eagerly suck on Hyunjin's thumb, pawing at his veiny arms.

Hyunjin continued, "God, when I saw you on top of Jeongin earlier it— hmm! Fuck—it...it made me want to take you in front of him, in front of everyone. You're mine, love. Mine."

"Hyunjin's," you mumbled with his digit still wrapped around your tongue, "Only Hyunnie's."

"You just love having people look at you being a little slut, though," Hyunjin growled. "Loving cock so goddamn much that you'd fuck all your friends just to get a taste of dick? Well, you can have mine baby. You'll have to beg, but you can get it. Every night. My cock—mmhm! M-my cock, so snug in you, between your thighs, ready to cum for you. Y-you'd like that, wouldn't you? To be filled with my c-cum?"

Hyunjin started to lose himself. Honestly, you wanted to applaud him for how long he had been able to hold on. He had been so patient, so good for you. After the events of tonight, he deserved to fuck you how he wanted. He dragged his thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing it with his own mouth and swallowing your whimpers. The wet digit then found its way to your clit, offering quick swipes which matched the pace of his cock.

"Hmph! I— shit— Hyunjin!" You panted between kisses. Each rub against you brought you closer and closer to Hyunjin, his smile evident within the clashing teeth and lips.

"Y/n," he cooed your name like a mantra. "Fuck, I wanna cum all over you, love. Just paint you with it. Please, princess? Please cum for me."

"Hyunnie—" your voice was cut off by the sudden erratic motions of Hyunjin's hips. As he chased his high, you were pulled from all coherent thoughts. Your mind clouded, his cock continually abusing your delicate cunt.

"M-my princess," Hyunjin moaned as he pressed harder into you, "my little y/n taking my cock so well. You're coming, aren't you? God, you clamp so hard around me. Finish, p-please—fuck—finish so I can cum all over you." The request, though more of a demand, wasn't hard to fulfill. With his final words, you painted Hyunjin's cock with your juices, still holding onto him so tightly, desperate to hang on to the feeling of being so full.

Sadly, your cum allowed Hyunjin to slip out of you, leaving you empty but blessing you with the image of Hyunjin fucking his fist right above your tummy. He straddled your body, sweat pouring off of him and adding to the fluids that coated his cock.

"Y/n, y/n," he cried. "S-so close to me... my baby, so close to me." Your hand joined his, rubbing his tip eagerly in the hopes of finally offering Hyunjin precious release.

"Cum, baby," you panted in your fucked-out state, "cum all over me."

As if your words liberated him from a curse, Hyunjin spilt his cum all over his hand while letting it paint your chest, assisting hand, and tummy. The sensation made you squirm under him.

"M-my pretty princess," Hyunjin moaned, "all mine, my pretty baby." Before you could leave his grip, Hyunjin's other hand groped your chest to force you to stay still, rubbing his juices into you.

"Mmh, my baby covered in my pups," he hummed as he allowed bliss to settle into him. Liquid still oozed out of his slit, the last of his orgasm still riding out. Then, with his cum covered hand, he stuck two digits into your hung-open mouth, which you then greedily sucked clean.

"So sweet," Hyunjin whispered as he lowered himself towards you, "so good." He let his barely-cleaned hand slip from your mouth, leaning into a slow kiss with you.

The kiss was not desperate, not demanding or needy. For that night, it was the only thing you had down slowly, with intent and purpose. His tongue danced with yours, letting honeyed moans escape him as he cherished the precious moment with you. As he pulled away from the kiss, he allowed his legs to unpin you and his hands to settle into yours, intertwining despite the stickiness of his mess.

"I'm glad I got to show you what I like, y/n." Hyunjin's voice was almost innocent, naive in his love-soaked words. You giggled

"I like what you like, Hyunjin," you mumbled with a faint smile layering your exhausted voice.

"I like what you like, too," he replied. Placing a final kiss on your forehead, Hyunjin smiled, completely content.

"I like you."

You smiled back. "I like you, too, Hyunnie. So much."

The rest of the night was spent locked in each other's arms, insomnia fleeing as the golden hue of the sky began to settle as the sun rose. Tomorrow, you would be subjected to questioning from the boys as you emerged from Hyunjin's room, bruised and blushing from the previous night's escapades. Yet, for now, it was just you and Hyunjin. Alone, and basking in each other's presence as the day took over the night sky.

For now, you could rejoice in the intimacy between you and the boy you liked, the closeness you two felt with each other, and the kisses that he let linger on your face as you were lulled to sleep.

[kynimdraws]

INFO POST

Name: Kylee (they/them). 30+

A totally normal Korean American mostly known for my drawings, specifically my Pokemon nuzlocke comics. But I will talk about other things on occasion because I do have periods of being fixated on certain topics. I also am a doctor!

Interests: Pokemon, League of Legends (everything except the game lmao), Fire Emblem, Advance Wars, Animal Crossing, Mother series, Korean history/culture, character design

General FYIs: 

General inquiries/commission work/etc should be sent thru kynimdraws [at] gmail [dot] com! Tumblr messaging/asks/etc is not 100% reliable

I will not follow NSFW accounts but I am fine talking/interacting with them. There may be suggestive shitposting but I like keeping my content on the SFW side

I am VERY picky about who I follow/interact with online. Fandom content in particular is a minefield for me aka I have many things I dislike and don’t want to see, even if it might be a popular thing in media that I otherwise enjoy. Therefore, I will unfollow/block/mute liberally. There are times I accidentally block a blog bc I mistake them for bots. So if you got hit with that, just send me an ask or email me

I am very open about what I like and dislike, and none of those things are a direct attack on your sensibilities. I have never gone out of my way to directly send hate or whatever have you if I end up seeing shit I don’t like. My complaints in my little online space ain't a personal attack on you.

My ask/submission box/DMs  are open for criticisms if you have any issues you want to resolve in private. No one is perfect and I may have done ignorant shit that needs to be pointed out. I have deleted or edited posts in the past if people tell me what I did wrong. PS I get that some of my stuff may upset you, but try to act civil when pointing shit out please.

I try to tag all my things whenever I can. Again, send me a message if anything bothers you. I am all for good debate but if you send me excessive hate or threats bc I have different opinions about matters that are trivial, I will block/delete them.

If you wish to use any of my hcs, please credit me. And if you are comfortable with it, send me the works so I can check them out! Or @ me if that is easier.

---

FIRE EMBLEM FYI: Specifically for 3Houses/3Hopes because I need a separate one for this franchise specificially given how many crazy things I got due to being involved in this fanbase via my fanworks:

DO NOT try to convince me to like or tolerate Byleth/student ships, ESPECIALLY the ones with the lords (aka CIaude, Dimitri, EdeIgard). I already summarized why I don’t like FE3H Byleth ships with student chars here. While the spinoff game FEW3H has now removed that teacher/student problematic situation, the fandom keeps putting the FE3H elements into the FEW3H fanworks (i.e. remembering Byleth from “another life” trope)...so no thanks!! DO NOT SHOW ME IT!!!

As for the Byleth ships with faculty members, my response is here so don’t try to bait me about that topic either thanks.

I do not care whom you ingame S-support. 3Houses limits the dating-sim part of the game to that character, so I cannot care less about how you play the game. The main issue I have is when people treat Byleth the “character” as a legit ship material when I personally think they are a cool character ruined by fans who are too obsessed with badly executed self insert otome tropes bc they self-project super hard onto them. Just to be clear, any FE3H or FEW3H OC/Canon >>>>>>Byleth ships personally. Even Byleth-sonas that remove the teacher/student aspects are better than canon FE3H!Byleth

Please don't drag FE VA statements as some sort of “gotcha” on my opinions like this post here. IDC what other people prefer with ship shit, that’s their problem and not mine. I am not gonna bother them about it. So don’t bother ME about it.

---

Links to check out:

Myths of Unova + Episode Grey (Pkmn White/White2 Comic)

Tales of Sinnoh (Pkmn Diamond Comic)

Art Site (Portfolio)

Twitter 

Instagram 

[punderdome]

The Fine Print: Chapter 9

Summary: An important guest arrives at the House of Hope to meet with Tav.

[AO3]

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 9: The Tutor

Tav’s maid staff woke her up early as she slept in Raphael’s bedchamber.

“Wake, my Lady, the Master of the House has asked you be washed and dressed early this morning.”  Tav sat up, still completely naked, and a simple cotton robe was immediately handed to her to wear.  “Your bath is ready, and breakfast will be served as soon as you are done washing.”

Something was odd.  For the last two tendays since the conclusion of their honeymoon, the servants would always let her sleep until her body awoke naturally, whatever time of day that was, which was usually just before midday.  Today, Tav was on some sort of schedule but had no ideas as to what the agenda might be.

It was a completely foreign experience to be rushed into a bath in the Archduke’s bathchamber attended by servants to wash and comb her hair and quickly dressed into a corset and chemise.  She was adorned with a simple, unembroidered linen gown in a rich navy.  Her curls were pinned neatly into a knot at the crown of her head while still damp, though every moment they dried, they threatened to burst free into chaos.

She followed a maid to the dining hall where a simple breakfast of eggs, bread, and cheese awaited her.  A cup of kaeth with milk followed shortly as she ate.

“What is going on?” Tav inquired.

“The Master of the House requested it,” and she was given no further insights by the staff.

She was rushed hurriedly to the archive and bid to wait on one of the settees near the stacks for further instructions.  Kilzare was hiding, and Tav could immediately see his form cowering in a corner behind his desk.  Whatever was happening, it wasn’t likely to be good.

The door to the archive suddenly opened, and Raphael entered, followed by a devil she didn’t recognize.

“My Lord,” Tav started uncertainly, giving a small curtsy.  She had no idea who the guest was that followed her husband, it was entirely possible he was a high-ranking devil in the Infernal court.  Formality was prudent.

He had narrow eyes with dark sclerae.  His irises were so dark they appeared almost black.  He had wings that bore holes in a guise of wanting to indicate age for an immortal being.  His skin was a bright red, much like Raphael’s, but the hair on his head and facial hair had twinges of white that betrayed his desire to show an elder status.  He didn’t have the musculature of her husband, seeming more frail and fine.  He held a large tome in his clawed hands that was mostly covered by a thick black cloak that wrapped around his body like a shield. He wore thin golden spectacles.  Tav knew enough of Infernal culture to recognize that this was a glamor.  He was something else entirely.  Something likely unknowable.

This definitely wasn’t good.

“My dearest, I have a gift for you.”  Raphael was smug and grinning with anticipation.  Tav breathed a sigh of relief.  “I am pleased to make an introduction.  This is Atmos Malrai, Infernal master and your new tutor on Infernal language.  He is brought into my service and will instruct you daily.”

Tav curtsied.  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Malrai.”

The language master ignored her pleasantries and set the tome he carried down on a table in the archive.

“Well then,” he motioned for Raphael to depart, and surprisingly, her dear husband left without complaint.  “Let us begin.”

The devil Atmos Malrai wordlessly discarded his cloak before giving a quick snap whereupon it disappeared and probably ended up in some kind of Infernal coat closet, but Tav wasn’t entirely sure, having never needed the services of an Infernal coat closet herself.

“ Xe mijy tuzuyw, kfz la mafwyw,” he barked at her.  Tav swallowed.  Infernal language could be many things: confusion, knowledge, information, inquiries, or deception.  Tav listened intently to the rest of the riddle.  His sentence was given at such a low pitch that it could have been mistaken for growling broken up by harsh consonants.  He gave the red herring, but the riddle was clear to her.  His devil form towered over her as he spoke.

“A map,” Tav responded to his riddle.  “ Xe pie,” she hissed aggressively back into his face.

A smile twisted on his lips.  “Dajydh.” and Tav realized immediately for the compliment that it was from a master.

Their spar continued for another few hours.  Atmos would growl at her in Devilish or Ancient Infernal, and Tav hissed at him in return with any of her knowledge of the language available to her.  He posed riddles and conundrums, and she met him back at every challenge.  After the first few blows, she still tried to win their spars but figured it was more important to be correct in the sense of her original argument - the only thing that truly mattered was that she continued to fight the fight of their tongues and not the actual result.  Her Tiefling Infernal met his Ancient Infernal in a battle of wills.  Her Tiefling Infernal bent and twisted into a new beast altogether every time she met his challenges again and again, as she listened to the differences and pitfalls within the language.

This wasn’t Lanceboard, it was something greater.  It was a clash of ideas and language.  It was a tournament that Tav felt compelled to see through to the end regardless of how many times she was outmatched.  The elder devil sparred like a Lanceboard grandmaster she was unlikely to best, though she would try until the end to find a way to fight for her own small victories.

Atmos posed some sort of incredibly difficult Infernal question that gave Tav pause for an uncomfortably long time.  He seemed content to wait indefinitely for her reply.  She ordered a cup of tea from a servant and sat to think over the real meaning of the phrase he gave her, and how to respond to it.   

Many possible answers to Atmos’s riddle seemed to swirl in front of her.  Every contemplation led to slight flurries of snow cascading from her fingertips.  The snowflakes were almost immediately consumed in the heat of Avernus and left to drip idly from her fingertips to the floor. She was marked by ice but her answer was filled with fire as Tav responded to him.

“ Wuwvap.  Wisdom.”

“ Ultryvukdy zidylz.   Quite well done.”  Atmos circled her, investigating her every being as she sat dripping in nervous sweat and sorcerous snowflakes.  It had been hours of discussion, but she was still a normal mortal with normal mortal needs of food and rest.  

“Caring to observe your mortal prey?” Tav challenged in Common tongue as Atmos studied her.

“I’m surprised that any would call you prey,” his response was direct.  There was a snap, and her tutor was gone, presumably returning to his quarters.  She was stunned.  She fiddled with the blank pages and unused inkpots on the desk, unsure of what to do next.  For how exhausted she was, rest seemed like a satisfactory choice.  It had to be almost dinner time or well past it by now.

“My Lady,” a valet arrived in the archive and addressed her.  “The Master of the House has requested to be seated for dinner, if you have completed your tutoring session.”

“Yes, of course,” Tav replied, completely unsure of how to communicate anything about her first tutoring session with Master Malrai.  They had not discussed finer points or grammar.  They sparred like she was at a training ground spitting Infernal runes at a training dummy and trying to knock it over with the harsh consonants of the language of the Hells.

Tav went to her room to clean herself up before dinner.  She splashed cool water on her face.  She wondered what kind of instruction she would receive the next day.  Would he sit down with her like she was a school child or would it be all verbal?  How many years would she be studying with him?

When she was done making herself presentable, she met Raphael in the dining hall.

“My dearest Mouse, please,” he motioned to the chair next to him.  “Tell me, how was your first tutoring session with Malrai?” He grinned magnanimously as he grabbed food from the table in front of them.

“It was challenging, but I enjoyed it,” Tav said with a smile.  “He brought me to the edge of all of my skills, I assume it was an initial assessment.”

“It was, he will report to me on your progress.  You impressed him, but I expected nothing less from you, my love.”  Raphael’s voice was filled with pride.  “He will work with you on your vocabulary and grammatical structure.”

“Where did he come from?” Tav inquired about the bespectacled, glamored master.

“I purchased his services from Malbolge.  It was too easy to acquire him from Glasya, she relies too often on seduction rather than wisdom.”  Tav knew there had to be more to the story, and it was something to inquire about with Kilzare later, provided he was finished cowering in front of Atmos Malrai.

It was convenient timing that now she was trying to find a loophole to end her contract, she was receiving instruction from an Infernal master.  Though she would have to be exceptionally careful at how often or in depth she received any instruction on the termination of a paterfamilias pact.

“What were lessons in Ancient Infernal like when you were younger?” Tav inquired curiously, definitely expecting that Devil education took decades or centuries while humans were only instructed in advanced education for a few years.  The very idea of Raphael sitting in a classroom with a professor or living in a crowded university dormitory was laughable.

“I perfected my Infernal law craft over a few centuries, working with various masters to adapt to different styles of writing,” Raphael answered proudly.

“How long will Master Malrai be instructing me?” Tav was enthusiastic about continuing to learn for several reasons.  If she managed to get proper instruction in the language, she could likely return to the university and make real progress on her research.  Her former colleagues wouldn’t be able to laugh at her anymore now that she was the Savior of Baldur’s gate, defeated a Netherbrain, and received individual instruction in the Hells themselves.  She would just conveniently leave out the part about the accidental marriage.

“As long as you wish.  Since you won’t age, it could be millennia.  Malrai is permanently contracted to my service.  He will be a great asset to my rule regardless whether or not he is still instructing you.”  Raphael took a sip of his wine.  “Glasya will regret the day she sold his services to me.  She does not fully appreciate his value.”

“What did you find most difficult about learning Infernal law?” Tav inquired.  Raphael was being unusually open about his youth, as he usually pretended that his early centuries never existed, but that was to be expected given that his father was Mephistopheles.

He studied her curiously.  “The most difficult piece of Infernal law is learning to secure layers of redundancy in sealing an agreement to retain a favorable position.  Many contracts I make are quite simple agreements where I present a boon in exchange for a soul, but others can be significantly more complex, requiring significant planning to close all loopholes.”

“Much like a game of Lanceboard, then,” Tav observed.  “I have seen how you approach it.”

“Are you trying to learn my secrets for Lanceboard, beloved Mouse?” Raphael teased.  She smiled.

“I want to maintain a favorable position the next time we play Lanceboard when nudity is at stake,” Tav responded with a smirk.  Raphael laughed.

“For that, I maintain a superior position by being more heavily dressed.”

“Here, I thought devils were supposed to be fair in their dealings,” Tav retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Raphael smiled, clearly enjoying the banter.  “I am always fair in my dealings.  When we play Lanceboard, the transaction is simple: one victory for one item of clothing.  I always make sure to start from a stronger position.”

“Then the next time we play, I’ll be sure to secretly wear every single pair of stockings in my wardrobe,” Tav challenged.

“Then I will be glad to slip them down your thighs, pair by pair,” her husband growled in response with a mischievous grin.  “Are you challenging me to a game?”

“I could be persuaded.”  Raphael stood and offered Tav his hand, she took it and they returned to his bedchamber.

Raphael finished claiming all of her items of clothing from her body, shimmying her smallclothes down her thighs.  Tav maintained a firm grip on the doublet she had taken from him.

***

Tav made sure to wake early to wash and dress before her first day of true instruction.  She gathered extra ink, quills, and parchment to bring to the archive.  She felt like a young scholar on her first day of university, where the corridors hummed with excitement for arcane knowledge.

Her first day at the university when she was a young adult was strange and foreign.  The wizards around her stared and gawked.  She had never had true, formal instruction in magic before, as the Weave seemed to bend and move to her will without verbal or somatic components or sometimes the wrong ones entirely.  She was the only sorceress at the school and an object of curiosity.  The lack of formal education did not help her in any class that required significant amounts of book learning.  Her practicals on using the spells felt simple to her, and whatever they asked for she could cast without much study.

Tav was at the top of the class with respect to all practical uses of magic in all schools but near the bottom in the formal classes on magical history or knowledge of various components for the creation of new spells or potions.  Her classmates tended to be unfriendly, regardless of how much charm Tav would put into her conversations.  Requests to study or practice together tended to be met with coldness.

With the scales on her body, there was no way to conceal her abilities as a sorceress and pretend to be just another middling arcane student with a strength for application and a weakness in book work.  One of the instructors in Infernal magic was sympathetic to her plight, given that he too had experienced the coldness of wizards, being a Tiefling.  He taught her about Hellfire and taught her fluent Infernal language, reigniting a desire to learn.

Tav had a hard time making friends.  In one of her courses she met a young human wizard specializing in Conjuration magic who seemed to enjoy her company, and he brought her around to meet his friends and other classmates, and he made her feel included and welcome amongst the wizardkind.  The two of them dated for several weeks. 

He broke up with her the morning after they first lay together and gloated to his friends that he won their competition to be the first to fuck the draconic slut.  Tav felt humiliated that he was the one that took her virginity.

Some of the wizards in her class were gleeful in their taunts that she had scales on her inner thighs and would happily show them to anyone who asked.  Someone started a rumor that she had fucked all of the Dragonborn employees and students at the university, which led to a series of humiliating meetings at the Archmage’s office, trying to validate the veracity of the claims.

It was much easier to fall back into the library alone and apply herself completely to her studies.  They could call her a slut all they wished, but at the end of it, she had power within that they could never learn.  She could cast while Silenced and double her spells to hit multiple targets with ease.  The wizards who first challenged her during combat sparring practicals quickly learned not to underestimate her, though they made it clear to the professors that they felt she was cheating anytime she Shielded herself from Magic Missile or twinned Witch Bolt.  The attacks of their familiars seemed to break themselves on icy draconic skin and be returned in retribution.  She was confident that she would not fall or bend to them, no matter how many times they tried to discredit her.

Tav laid out her supplies on a desk in the archive, waiting patiently for Master Malrai.  Kilzare was anxiously pacing around his desk.

“Why are you so nervous?” Tav inquired.  “He isn’t here to instruct you.  I’m the only one here who could make him displeased.”

Kilzare stood aghast.  “You don’t know who Master Atmos Malrai is?” he asked incredulously.

“No, why?” Tav waited for an explanation.

She heard a snap and the arrival of the Infernal tutor behind her.  Kilzare immediately fled deep into the belly of the archives and didn’t return.

“Master Malrai,” Tav curtsied.  Once again, he ignored the pleasantries.

He took a seat at the large wooden desk that Tav had prepared as a work surface.  She sat on the opposite side.  Atmos placed the large tome he carried on the center of the desk with a loud thud.  He flipped to a specific page and turned the contents to her.

“Read aloud,” he instructed.  Tav read the pointed paragraph aloud in Infernal.  Atmos studied her intently as she read.  It was a section of the histories on Dispater and his careful, calculated rule of Dis.

“What do you make of this passage?” Atmos asked her.

“It seems sparse with description, only describing Dispater’s growing paranoia in his control of the Iron City,” Tav answered him.

“The text is indeed more rich than you understand,” the Infernal master explained.  He pointed out word after word the subtext behind each rune, easily reading the text upside-down from the opposite side of the desk.  Tav quickly took notes, documenting the translation and mispronunciations.  When Atmos had finished his discussion, he observed her curiously.

“Why are you taking notes?” He challenged her.  “In Infernal education, the students learn to read first and then to write when they are capable of actually understanding their writing.”

“I wish to practice, Master Malrai,” Tav responded coolly.  “And it is my understanding of Infernal education that is the practice one uses to teach Infernal children.   I am not a child, though I am young by your standards.  I am capable of learning two skills simultaneously.”

The Infernal master said nothing on her note-taking practice but continued his instruction.  For hours, they spoke of the Infernal language on various pages.  By the end of their tutoring session, Tav had close to three hundred new Ancient Infernal notes to study.  Some words were long, translating into entire sentences in Common tongue, and some words were twisted and contorted with only slight changes to the runes that comprised them.

Atmos Malrai snapped the tome shut and disappeared with a snap.

Glancing at a timepiece on Kizare’s desk, it was time to dine with Raphael.  She packed up her notes and carried them with her towards the dining hall.

A modest dinner was laid out on the dining table.  Raphael stood by his chair, looking distinctly displeased.

“Husband?” Tav inquired.  “What’s wrong?”

“You deeply disrespected an Infernal master in my House,” he spat bitterly.  Raphael snapped, and the notes she had taken from the afternoon vanished from her arms in a spray of embers.  “My House is a sanctuary of order and decorum in the Hells, do I make myself clear?”  His voice rose to a deep boom and his eyes narrowed down at her.

Tav thought back to the day of instruction, searching for what had made Raphael so upset.

“The writing?” Tav asked hesitantly.  Raphael gave her an annoyed sneer.

“The insolence,” Raphael clarified, his tone biting.  Tav thought back to when she told Atmos Malrai that she wasn’t a child, and didn’t need to be taught like a child.  While she, quite distinctly, was acting like a child.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disrespect him,” Tav said, combing her fingers through her hair nervously.

Raphael raised an eyebrow.  She continued, “I didn’t mean to disrespect you and your House, husband.”

Raphael said nothing else, but sat down to dine.  Tav joined him in the chair next to him.  She could tell he was still incredibly upset.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.  I have much to learn about the decorum of the Hells,” Tav tried to offer to sate his displeasure, knowing it was likely to linger for quite some time.  Raphael seemed to relax slightly.  He served himself his food and a glass of wine.  Tav served herself a plate for dinner, and Raphael dramatically rolled his eyes before summoning a Mage Hand to pour her a goblet of wine.

“Thank you,” Tav offered shyly.

The dinner was silent.

Raphael rose from his chair.  “Well, my dearest, now you must be punished,” he said offhandedly.

Tav swallowed nervously.  He only vowed not to torture her, but she had no idea what was still left in their marriage contract that he could do.

“You are not welcome with me in my chambers tonight.  If you are a good student and good wife, then tomorrow I may summon you again.  Do not disappoint me,” Raphael challenged, though Tav could still detect a strong undercurrent of his frustration that his lust would not be satisfied that evening.

“Yes, husband,” Tav answered emotionlessly, though secretly looking forward to a good night of sleep instead of a good night of sleep after some climax-less sex.

“Dear wife, should you disobey, I shall have to spank you.”  Tav was completely unsure if he was secretly hoping she would disobey or wanting her to fall in line.

Raphael snapped his fingers, and Tav was back in her chambers.  The notes she took during her tutoring session were strewn all over the room haphazardly.  Raphael probably disorganized them intentionally.  Tav picked up the notes and carefully placed them on the table in her room.

Since she had nothing else to do, she studied them several more times before going to sleep.

*****

Tav woke the next morning ready for her studies.  She prepared herself for another day of instruction not looking forward to any amount of resentment Master Atmos Malrai may have been holding against her.

She entered the Archives and noticed that Kilzare was hiding again.  She approached the Archivist’s desk curiously.  He was still in the corner, lest the Infernal master return.

“What are you doing?” Tav asked him quickly.

Kilzare rose slowly.  “I should ask you the same thing.  I can’t believe you talked back to Master Atmos Malrai.” 

“Yes, I have already been punished by the Master of the House,” Tav started, “I don’t understand, who is he really?” 

Kilzare tapped his claws nervously on his desk.  “Master Atmos Malrai is the Infernal master who taught Infernal and law to Asmodeus’s children.   He is said to be almost as old as Infernal law itself.”

“So that’s how he found himself in Glasya’s employ?” Tav inquired, missing the point of what Kilzare was trying to communicate.

“For someone who can speak fluent Infernal at any level, you know nothing about the politics of the Hells.”  Kilzare rubbed his temples in an attempt to calm down.  “You backtalked one of the most important Infernal law masters that has ever existed.  I absolutely cannot believe you sometimes.  You are completely ridiculous.”

“Well, at least I wasn’t flayed for my efforts,” Tav offered with a smug smile, remembering that her punishment was not getting unsatisfying sex from her husband.

“If you were anyone other than the Archduchess, there is a good chance you would have been flayed,” Kilzare warned, his fingers twitching anxiously.

Tav paused, realizing just how badly she may have fractured an important relationship in the Hells.  “How angry was Master Malrai?” she inquired, her bravado starting to shrink.  She wondered what form the Infernal master took when he wasn’t in glamor.  It may have been something completely able to rend flesh from bone should she not correctly conjugate any number of Infernal verbs.

“I don’t know,” Kilzare breathed.  “If you have any sense of self-preservation, you’re going to need to keep your ego to yourself.”

“Every devil has ego,” Tav countered.

“Yes, but you are not a devil or an Infernal-born Lady, so you have no idea what you are dealing with, because you are a mortal.   Being married to the Master of the House does not make you an expert on anything in the Hells,” Kilzare was quick with his warning before scurrying off into the stacks of the archives again.

Tav’s eyes narrowed.  The taunts of her classmates rang in her ears.  Dragon children could not learn wizard craft.  Sorceresses weren’t competent enough to do arcane research.  Idiot.  Spoiled.  Cheater.  Princess.  Bitch.  Slut.

“I earned my ego, because I have real power,” Tav repeated to herself several times, her hands tensing with each repetition and cooling rapidly with a thin layer of frost.

Atmos Malrai appeared with a crack and a flurry of embers on the far side of the desk.  He looked at her curiously.  Tav straightened her skirts and sat down.

“I am ready to learn to read, as I am not ready to write just yet,” she said, holding a tight elevated posture.  The desk had been cleared of all writing utensils.  Atmos nodded.

The devil before her opened his tome, pointing at the chapter he wished her to study.

Tav started to read the Infernal runes aloud.  Atmos nodded along as she translated the passages word for word.  He corrected her vocabulary as they went, studying for hours.

Raphael seemed much happier when he met her for dinner.

“Greetings, husband,” Tav offered, exhausted after a full day of study.  She was growing increasingly weary of reading about Dispater.

“My dearest, I had a report that your behavior was much improved today.  I’m glad you took my admonishment and punishment to heart,” he grinned, beckoning her forward.

“I did, Raphael,” Tav murmured, as her husband tightly wrapped his arms around her and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“See, you are rewarded when you are obedient, my dear Mouse.  I will welcome you to my chambers again after we dine,” Raphael purred.

Tav sighed.

***

Tav arrived for instruction in the archive the following morning, still aching from the full force of Raphael’s lust.  Kilzare was making himself scarce in the stacks, but was slowly ceasing to cower in front of her tutor.  He was probably falling behind in his work, being unable to perform his duties while hiding under a desk.

Tav sat at her spot at the desk and waited for the Infernal master.  He arrived in a flurry of embers.  Atmos took a seat across from her, absent the tome he typically carried.

“So tell me, Lady Tavara, of your education on Prime Material,” Atmos adjusted his spectacles and leaned back in the chair.

She cocked an eyebrow, unsure of why an Infernal master would care about a mortal’s education.  Tav recounted her informal arcane education prior to her admission to the university.  She told him of her Tiefling instructor and interest in Hellfire magic.

“It is highly unusual for a sorceress to seek a wizard’s arcane university, is it not?” he inquired, though clearly already knowing that it was, in fact, quite unusual.

“Yes, it is unusual.  Many sorcerers are content to be limited by the power imparted by their bloodlines, but I always knew I could learn more than what was gifted to me by my ancestors.”

“Then tell me, why the interest in the power of the Hells?” Atmos spoke softly.  He was studying her.  She wondered if he took such an interest in every fiend he had tutored.

“I guess you could say that I have a particular interest in learning about ancient powers,” Tav unconsciously tapped her fingers over the patch of scales on her cheek.

“When you finished your studies, how did you apply your knowledge on Prime Material?”  Again, Tav knew that Atmos was briefed thoroughly on her life, and he was likely testing to see how honest she would be or how much she would embellish her accomplishments.

“I took a research position at a different university, the one in Baldur’s Gate.  I was hired on as a junior researcher with a specialty in Infernal magic.”  Tav’s fingernails clicked randomly on the wood of the desk, and her fidgeting did not escape her tutor’s eye.  He cocked a slight smile.

“Why did they hire you?” Atmos challenged.  Tav froze both in action and magic.

She deadpanned.  “Because I am magic incarnate.”

Atmos let out a deep and booming laugh, grinning from ear to ear.  “Mortal universities do take pride in having exotic pets, do they not?”  Tav swallowed, realizing that he understood the dark vein of seriousness beneath her answer.

Tav had several offers to join research faculty at various universities around Faerun.  Sorcerers were very rare, and ones with a wizard education even more so.  Her lineage was worn directly on her face, her power unmistakable.  She was always invited to balls and fundraising efforts for the university.  She was paraded around to various events to show the patriars of the Upper City how prestigious the faculty were.

Tav knew of the rumors floating around by the students and some of the other faculty that she had received her position by fucking the Archmage.  When they needed more generous patriars for university funding, she was always expected to be on his arm.  Tav would put on all of her charm and let fly a gentle storm of snowflakes that would glitter in grand halls and ballrooms, a more exotic sight than the lights of prestidigitation.

Patriars and other nobility would introduce her to their sons, eager to gain draconic blood in their family lines.  Tav was a popular draw for the attention of potential patrons to fund new laboratories or for a renovation to a crumbling dormitory that needed restoration of the stonework.  Uncharitable colleagues viewed her as a talentless whore.

Tav had been given far more patience with her lack of research progress than the faculty in other fields.  They were making real strides forward in spell development and increasing the efficiency of alchemical formulae.  Tav was floundering with a substandard grasp of Infernal knowledge and brought to balls to dance with prospective patrons.  She was there to make the university money and not to be a real academic asset.

Tav thought closely about her research into Hellfire and bitterly about how naive she had been to think she could research it from Prime Material without the aid of the fiends that resided in the Hells.  She had an opportunity to learn an entirely different field, and one that could set her genuinely apart at any university on the Mortal Planes.

“Would you be willing to teach me Infernal law in addition to Infernal language?” Tav requested, unsure of what Atmos would say based on the contents of his contract with Raphael.

Atmos snapped and several large tomes in both Infernal and Common tongue lay on the desk in front of her.  There was a book on logical reasoning and another on Faerunian contracts.  The books in Infernal were tomes similar to the Canian law tome that Raphael read to her the night of their Wedding Feast, but far more general and likely to provide a broader foundation.

Atmos grinned from ear to ear.  “Well then, Lady Tavara, shall we begin?”

[reveristcalicocan]

NSFW WHERE PEOPLE CAN HEAR

F!Reader

Characters: Al Haitham, Diluc, Ayato

Warnings: NSFW, cock warming, public sex, sex toys, teasing, belly bulge, stuffing, lots of kissing, sucking and biting.

AL HAITHAM

You were in the house of daena with Al Haitham, looking for resource materials for the upcoming project. But of course being the way he is, he had to drag you there at the break of dawn.

While he was focused on his work, you were slumped over the table in defeat.

I wanna go home…

The thought of your soft bed beneath you brought a smile to your face. Your boyfriend however paid you no mind no matter how much you had tried to get his attention.

“…”

You walked over to Al Haitham and pushed aside the books, moving yourself to be positioned on his leg, wrapping your arms around his neck. “can we go home?” You whispered while kissing his cheeks.

“No, i’m busy with something important right now.” Damn he was straightforward.

Getting annoyed, you decided to tease him a bit. Moving your head to his neck, you kissed and sucked it wetly. Occasionally letting out soft noises.

This clearly got Al Haitham to look at you, “y/n we’re in a library, any louder and we’ll get caught.”

Despite his complaint, he didn’t reject the idea of you doing it in public. Slowly, you started to grind your hips against him, maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you were in such a rush to get out of the house you neglected your underwear.

You could feel the way his body tensed up at your actions, slick coating Al Haitham’s pants as you continued to suck and bite him.

He tried his best to concentrate on the work at hand but he just couldn’t ignore the painful bulge in his pants. Finally dropping the books, he adjusted you slightly.

“Fuck, do you have to?” He was already unbuckling his belt.

Without warning, he lifted you up and positioned your puffy wet pussy on top of his dick. You whimpered as his length penetrated into you so suddenly, walls clenching as his tip protruded painfully.

Now that you were completely turned on, you started humping him. Squelching noises from you trying to chase your high had alerted some of the others nearby. Seeing what was happening, they quickly moved away, not wanting to be caught.

Moaning into his neck, you let out a whine as Al Haitham moved. Your walls were stretched in pain and yet you were too horny right now to care about that.

Your breathing started getting more erratic and you could feel your pussy throbbing and clenching as you chased your orgasm.

“hmm ngh ah- mnh!” Your orgasm came as you panted and moaned, trembling as Al Haitham wrapped an arm around you.

Your noises now filled the almost empty library, everyone had cleared out upon hearing you.

“Feeling better?” Al Haitham asked, you nodded your head, leaning into him as you rested.

AYATO

“there we are, now you’re ready!”

You squirmed uncomfortably as the intensity of the vibration increased. Ayato smiled in contempt as you squeezed your legs together, trying to keep quiet.

The two of you were entertaining some inquiries from the people at the Irodori festival.

“Miss, are you alright?” The person who was in the midst of talking with Ayato turned to you in concern as you let a whimper slip.

“f-fine, just a stomachache!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your stomach while the other gripped onto the wall.

It was getting hard to hide your moans and whimpers especially when Ayato asked you to assist him in explaining some things.

“Ayato… can you please-”

“Just hold out for a bit more, the festival will be ending soon.” Ayato cut you off with a devilish smile.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you head his words.

Ayaka, Aether, Thoma and yoimiya were already seated when the tow of you arrived. Ayato didn’t mention that you were having dinner with others!

Your face paled when you realised that he was indeed seeing how much more of this you can take. Sitting down, you couldn’t help but notice how wet you were.

You barely paid anyone any attention, letting Ayato order for you while you were busy trying to control yourself. The food soon arrived and the table was set.

“y/n, are you okay? You haven’t touched your food and you’re looking rather pale…” Thoma asked you worryingly.

At this, everyone’s attention was turned to you.

“O-oh right sorry, i was just thinking.” You picked up your chopsticks and started pushing food down your throat.

Every time you finished your plate, Ayato would add more. This led you to feeling a different kind of discomfort. Squirming in your seat, a few tears prickled the corner of your eyes.

Ayato rested a hand on your thigh, rubbing circles. You couldn’t ignore the way his hand was so close to your heat.

A tight squeeze.

You jerked, letting out a yelp. Ayato had squeezed your thighs, causing a reaction.

“Sorry, uhm I need to use the restroom, please excuse me!” You walked away hurriedly.

“I’ll go make sure she’s alright,” Ayato followed closely behind you.

Once you turned a corner, Ayato had you pinned against the wall. Hands immediately groping your breasts, he went in for a long wet kiss.

You weren’t sure when but soon Ayato had you riding on top of his dick, back pushed against the wall as your legs wrapped around his hips.

He was relentless in pushing into you, complimenting you for doing so well.

DILUC

After a long day of tavern work, diluc was frustrated and seeing your exposed thigh as you lay on his bed only made his desire for sex more.

“Ah Diluc! You’re back-” Your sentence was cut off by him kissing you sweetly as he got on top of you.

You seem to have gotten the hint as the next moment you were helping him undress as he was to you. His long slender fingers slid into your pussy as he started stimulating your clit.

Once he thought you were wet enough, he positioned himself at your entrances, pushing in without a second thought.

Man he was huge.

Every time the two of you did this you would wake up with an aching body and weak legs. He could see the bump on your stomach caused by his dick. Ah how he loved seeing his dick inside of you like this. It just turned him on.

Sliding in and out, he picked up the pace while making sure he wasn’t overdoing it. Kissing your neck and sucking your nipples, your moans got louder and louder as did the creak of the bed.

Suffice to say, the maids downstairs understood what was happening all too fast.

You buckled your hips, wanting more.

“hah, hold on.”

Diluc put two fingers in your mouth, letting you taste your own juices as you sucked on his fingers.

[solaslow74]

A short and simple fic for day 1 of @goldengroovy's @olnfweek2024!

Prompt - Soulmates/First Meet

MC - Jin

It was quite fortunate that it was a plastic bowl, and not a glass one, that Mrs. Baumann was ladeling her freshly made soup into, as the sudden and repeated ringing of the doorbell might’ve startled her into dropping it.

It didn’t, of course- she’d already started adjusting to that sound announcing the arrival of her granddaughter, so she didn’t even spill a drop- but really! Imagine the mess!

But there wasn’t time to linger on that- somebody needed to get the door and stop that ringing, for heaven’s sake.

“Ernst!” called Mrs. Baumann, setting down the filled bowl and beginning to dole out soup to another. No response came, so with a huff, she left the task at hand to go and let her granddaughter in. It was with an exasperated expression that she set to unlocking and jostling the door open. But thoughts of how little help she gets around here flew out the door with the same whoosh as the blur of glittering gold fluff that flew in.

Unlike the ringing, which ceased with the opening of the door, this did startle Mrs. Baumann, and she turned as if spun around by the gust that followed the sparkling, jingling shape inside.

“And what’s got you in such a hurry, little lady?” she asked of the not-so-mysterious intruder. The blur known as Tamarack finally slowed, already a step up the staircase. The force of her sudden stop left her noisy bag swinging back and forth. She answered the question with a wide grin.

“I need to write something down, Omi!”

That was odd; the lively youngest member of the Baumann household wasn’t really the journaling or note-taking type. She trusted her good memory to keep track of anything important, and with the kind of spontaneity she had, writing down plans in advance was a foreign concept, too. But Mrs. Baumann hardly had time to wonder about this uncharacteristic event before Tamarack was stomping up the stairs again.

“Well, dinner’s ready, so come down soon!” she called up the stairs. “And bring Opa with you while you’re at it!”

She may as well have saved her breath on that pair of requests, though, because neither her husband nor her granddaughter appeared until Mrs. Baumann marched up the stairs herself. After retrieving a remorseful Mr. Baumann from the master bedroom- he had laid down for a “short” rest and may well have slept through dinner without her- Dorothea knocked on Tamarack’s bedroom door. A moment later, it swung open to reveal Tamarack with a gleeful look and a pair of colored pencils clutched in her hand. Her supremely-important task must have been completed, as she came down for dinner without complaint.

She wasn’t yet out of surprises, though, as she broke the contented silence of everyone enjoying her Omi’s soup with a question.

“Omi, what’s a soulmate?” Tamarack asked with a genuinely quizzical look, giving no indication that she found the inquiry at all unusual. Mrs. Baumann made a small sound of amusement, while Mr. Baumann’s expression hardly changed as he continued his methodical eating motions, though his gentle eyes were keenly fixed on his granddaughter now. With no forthcoming context from Tamarack, Mrs. Baumann took a moment to consider her answer, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.

“Well, it’s like someone’s true love, dear. A person they’re meant to be with, like your Opa is to me. There are lots of stories about what it means to be a soulmate, but that’s the idea.”

Tamarack listened earnestly, her cheeks rosy but her expression unabashed. “Wow. I thought so.” And that was all she said about that. Mrs. Baumann could only chuckle to herself and wonder what had prompted the question. But just as quickly as the topic had come up, it shifted again, as Tamarack began to chatter about the forest fun she’d had that day.

That didn’t mean the topic had left her thoughts, though. In fact, it was the first thing on Tamarack’s mind when she returned to her room after dinner. Soulmates, true love- those magical concepts danced around in her head until it felt fuzzy, like when she had taken one too many spins on the tire swing. And the music they danced to swelled to a crescendo as Tamarack began to finish the page she’d been working on.

The two simple figures drawn onto it in all her favorite colors might’ve been recognizable enough by their hair- a sparkling gold on the left and a sky-blue on the right- but they were labeled, just in case. The first was “Me”, and the second, in careful lettering, was “Jin”. The pair of smiling kids held hands above a big blank space, which Tamarack (the real one) now began to fill out, alternating colors with every letter she wrote. The letters got smaller as they went, as the space began to run out at the end of the page, but not one was left out. So, Tamarack finally dropped the colored pencils back into their case, and admired her handiwork.

“SOULMATES”.

Not a label, perhaps, as much as it was a wish. After all, Tamarack had only met the boy depicted on this sheet earlier that day, and a “soulmate” sounded awfully serious. But that warm feeling that had sprung to life on their first encounter had lasted all day. It was real! And writing it down, taking that feeling inside her and putting it down on paper, where it could be seen, made it more real than ever.

Not that it should be seen by just anyone. This was special, and secret. Not because her crush was anything embarrassing- Tamarack would shout it from the rooftops if needed- but because a secret wish was all the more likely to come true. Clutching the paper to her chest and squinting her eyes, Tamarack wished so hard it felt like she might burst. Jin was ten, he was new, he liked the forest- please let him be the same about this!

“They’re both ten. They’re both new. They both like the forest.”

Mr. Qiu Lin tapped a finger to his other hand with each new fact he related about his two new neighbors. Then he put on an expression of total surprise for the next one, his hands spreading in disbelief: “And you won’t believe this, but the girl, Tamarack- she’s been here a week and I hadn’t seen her once!”

Qiu’s dad laughed, the busy task of cleaning up the kitchen after dinner not distracting him from his son’s account. “That is unbelievable. You keep a pretty good tab on the other kids around here.”

“I know!” Qiu cried in dismay. Then, the drama hanging in the air dissipated, and Qiu’s arms fell. “But this is good. One new neighbor kid would be exciting, a pair of new neighbor kids is something really expection- uh, exceptional.”

A finger went to the side of his face as he thought. “If I was new, I’d want friends. So…”

With a whoosh, his notepad and pen came out of his pocket, and he began writing furiously as he spoke. “I’m gonna invite them to walk with me tomorrow, and I’m gonna let them join the club!”

Mr. Lin, the one not scribbling into a notepad, leaned against the counter, giving his son a grin. “Leaving your wheels behind for the sake of the new kids, huh? That’s noble of you.”

Qiu shrugged it off, though the smile tugging at his lips showed the praise didn’t go unnoticed. “I can always see if they’ve got bikes later. Besides, it’s been a while since I walked to school with friends. It’ll be good.”

As the evening winded down, with chores being finished, teeth being brushed, and Mrs. Lin even declaring “lights out”, the two new neighbors were still on Qiu’s mind. Hands behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling, running through that funny set of circumstances that had led the two mystery kids to his fort.

Tamarack was too funny, and she needed to see all the coolest parts of Golden Grove. Jin seemed shy, kinda like Darren could get, so he would love the invitation to the club, for sure. And there was something about the sight of those wide eyes, which seemed even wider thanks to his round glasses, peering up at Qiu from the foot of the backyard fort. It made Qiu smile then, and even now, he couldn’t resist a grin. Thinking about it, all of it, that first meeting had been something special- something he didn’t want to forget.

Pausing for a moment to listen for footsteps outside the door, Qiu sat up and leaned over to his nightstand. He had to stretch a little bit off the edge of the bed to reach his notes and pen, but it was no trouble. His eyes had already adjusted to the dimness of the room, so after a second to collect his thoughts, Qiu began to write.

Usually, he was in such a rush to capture the important details that a whole idea could be reduced to a few words, but this was different. It had been unique, and he wanted to hold onto that memory, of the shy, bespectacled boy chasing a paper airplane mystery, and the golden-haired girl who’d been hidden in the forest for days. The things they’d said, and the way they had acted. It ended up taking a whole page and then some- but that was okay. Qiu could always get a new notepad.

Once it was done, and he was back to laying down, Qiu tried his best to clear his thoughts and get to bed. Tomorrow, he’d get to see those kids again, and they’d meet his friends, and join his club. This was gonna be great, so the sooner it came, the better.